l  e  ft's, 


Fnizr  the 


FOUR  LETTERS  FROM  A  MISSIONARY. 


THIRD  EDITION 


STEREOTYPED  BY  JAS.  CONNER,  NEW-YORK. 


Published  by  the  General  Protestant  Episcopal  Sunday  School 
Union ,  and  for  sale  at  their  Depository,  Protestant  Episco¬ 
pal  Press  Buildings,  No.  46  Lumber-Street,  in  the  rear  of 
Trinity  Church,  and  at  their  different  Branch  Depositories. 

Price  $3  per  100  :  40  cents  per  doz.  :  4  cents  per  copy . 
Printed  at  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Press ,  No.  8  Rector  -  Street. 


1829. 


OREGON  RULE  CO. 


1 1 1 n 1 1 1 n 1 1 1 1 1 1 1  tntji miiiii| 


TI1E 


FEB  2  4  1954 


nriHULHS?  F^mxx.ira 


HISTORY. 


m  FOURTH  EDITION. 

■ _ _ _ _ 

STEREOTYPED  BY  JAS.  CONNER,  NEW-YOEK, 


mtu=¥ot1t : 

Published  by  tho  General  Protestant  Episcopal  Sunday  School 
Union ,  and  for  sale  at  their  Depository,  Protestant  Episco 
pad  Press  Buildings,  No.  46  Lumber-Street,  in  the  rear  of 
Trinity  Church,  and  at  their  different  Branch  Depositories. 


Printed  at  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Press ,  iVb.46  Lumber  Street. 


FOUR 


FETTERS 


FROM  A  MISSIONARY. 


1ETTER  X 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Gospel  Messenger . 


I  .  From  the  great  and  increasing  interest  I  have 
felt  in  a  family,  with  whom  I  became  acquainted 
about  a  year  since,  I  cannot  refrain  from  sending 
you  a  short  sketch  of  their  history. 

It  was  in  June  of  1S26,  after  having  preached  at 
one  of  my  missionary  stations,  that  I  was  invited  by 
•  Robert  Mc’Ellen  to  hold  a  third  service  at  his  house 
on  account  of  his  aged  mother,  who,  in  consequence 
of  the  distance  and  the  indifferent  state  of  her 
health,  was  unable  to  enjoy  the  privileges  of  worship. 
He  also  added,  that  she  was  nearly  ninety  years  old 
but  still  retained  her  mental  faculties  vigorous  and 
unimpaired. 

I  of  course  could  not  refuse  to  comply  with  such 
a  request,  and  in  doing  it,  I  witnessed  one  of  the  most 
affecting  and  interesting  scenes  that  have  ever  come 
within  my  knowledge. — But  I  must  not  begin  the 
narration  of  it,  until  I  have  given  some  account  of 
the  previous  history  of  this  family  of  Mc’Ellens. 
Joseph  and  Elizabeth  Mc’Ellen  planted  themselves 
in  this  section  of  country  during  its  early  settle¬ 
ment.  They  had  to  encounter  many  hardships,  and 
submit  to  many  privations.  This  however  they  did 
cheerfully,  as  they  were  living  in  the  hope  of  see¬ 
ing  better  days.  To  Joseph  Mc’Ellen,  these  hopes 
were  never  realized  on  earth.  A  few  years  only 
had  elapsed,  and  he  fell  a  victim  to  one  of  those 
fevers,  to  which  all  new  countries  are  subject.  His 


4 


two  eldest  sons,  Robert  and  Joseph,  could  hardly  be 
said,  at  this  time,  to  have  entered  upon  manhood. 
Upon  them,  however,  devolved  the  business  of  pay¬ 
ing  for  their  land,  and  clearing  away  the  thick  forest 
that  covered  it.  In  this  they  were  aided  not  a  little 
by  the  counsel  of  their  mother,  Elizabeth  Me* Ellen. 
She  was  ever  solicitous  to  form  her  children  to  ha¬ 
bits  of  industry,  but  far  more  anxious  to  form  their 
minds  to  habits  of  piety. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mc’Ellen  had  been  pious  from 
early  life,  and  were  warmly  attached  to  the  Episco¬ 
pal  church.  This  was  the  church  of  their  choice. 
Educated  in  the  bosom  of  another  denomination  of 
Christians  they  had  attached  themselves  to  this,  from 
a  conviction  of  its  superior  claims  and  excellencies. 

In  leaving  the  place  of  their  nativity,  and  taking 
up  their  abode  in  a  new  and  thinly  settled  country, 
they  were  necessarily  deprived  of  a  privilege  which 
the  Episcopalian  esteems  the  greatest  of  all  earthly 
privileges,  the  services  of  his  own  church.  They 
did  not  so  feel  this  privation,  until  they  had  arrived 
at  their  log-house,  and  the  blessed  day  of  rest  found 
them  in  the  midst  of  a  dense  forest.  On  the  morn¬ 
ing  of  the  first  Sabbath  after  having  taken  posses¬ 
sion  of  their  new  residence,  when  according  to  their 
former  custom,  every  member  of  the  family  appear¬ 
ed  in  clean  and  comely  apparel,  the  greatness  of 
this  privation  began  to  be  felt. 

“  I  fear,”  said  Mrs.  Mc’Ellen,  “  in  taking  the 
step  we  have,  we  have  not  fully  estimated  the  loss 
of  privileges  that  we  shall  sustain.  How  are  we 
to  spend  our  Sundays  V ’  “  Of  that  I  have  thought 
much,”  said  Mr.  Mc’Ellen,  “  and  in  my  reflections 
upon  this  subject,  I  have  discovered  an  additional 
reason  for  increased  attachment  to  the  Episcopal 


b 


church.  We  have  our  Prayer  Books  with  us  :  we 
can  therefore  always  have  the  regular  service  of  the 
church,  and  on  Sundays  we  will  turn  our  little  log- 
room  into  a  chapel." 

This  proposition  was  immediately  put  into  execu¬ 
tion,  and  the  service  was  invariably  and  uniformly 
read  on  Sundays,  and  all  the  children  taught  to  join 
and  take  their  several  parts  in  it,  until  the  sickness 
and  death  of  Mr.  Mc’Ellen.  A  most  interesting 
scene  was  witnessed  the  next  Sunday  after  the  death 
of  this  worthy  man,  who  like  the  patriarch  of  old 
had  been  to  his  family  both  a  father  and  a  priest. 

I  can  in  no  way  give  you  a  better  idea  of  it,  than 
by  repeating  the  narration  which  I  received  from 
Robert  Mc’Ellen,  who  was  one  of  the  actors  in  this 
scene.  This  interesting  narration  was  as  follows. 

“  The  children  were  all  neatly  clad  and  seated 
around  the  room  with  their  Prayer  Books.  Every 
thing  appeared  as  it  used  to,  when  my  father  was 
alive.  The  little  cherry  stand  stood  where  it  always 
had,  on  a  Sunday  morning.  Upon  it  were  laid  the 
large  Bible  and  Prayer  Book.  My  mother  had  been 
absent  for  some  half  an  hour,  and,  as  I  supposed,  was 
attending  to  some  necessary  domestic  concerns.  I 
sat  wondering  who  would  fill  my  father’s  place.  At 
length  my  mother  entered  the  room,  and,  covered 
with  weeds  of  mourning,  proceeded  to  the  little 
stand  and  kneeled  down  before  it.  We  were  all 
silent.  In  a  few  minutes  she  arose.  There  was  a 
slight  flush  upon  her  cheek,  a  tear  stood  in  her  eye, 
and  her  lips  quivered  with  emotion.  With  a  tremu¬ 
lous  voice  she  thus  began,  “  'Let  the  words  of  my 
mouth  and  the  meditation  of  my  heart,  be  always 
acceptable  in  thy  sight,  O  Lord,  my  strength  and 
my  Redeemer."  We  all  instantly  arose,  and  through 

1* 


6 


the  service  made  the  proper  responses,  with  which 
we  were  all  familiar.  My  mother  continued  to  read 
the  service  with  perfect  self-control  until  she  came 
to  the  prayer,  “  for  persons  under  affliction  then 
her  voice  faltered  and  her  utterance  was  choked. 
This  was  a  trying  moment  to  me.' — My  beloved  fa¬ 
ther  was  no  more.  His  death  was  fresh  in  my 
recollection.  The  voices  of  my  little  brothers  and 
sisters  uttering  the  responses,  were  still  sounding 
in  my  ear.  My  mother  was  at  this  moment  kneel¬ 
ing  before  the  throne  of  God,  and  borne  down  by 
such  a  load  of  wounded  feeling,  that  she  could  not 
speak.  All  this  was  too  much  for  me.  It  roused 
within  me  a  flood  of  sensibility  that  I  could  not 
control.  I  wept,  I  sobbed  aloud,  I  looked  about 
with  a  wild  and  feverish  gaze.  All  in  the  room 
were  on  their  knees — all  were  silent  except  my¬ 
self.  The  tears  were  indeed  trickling  down  from 
all  the  young  eyes  around  me  ;  but  they  fell  like 
the  dew-drops  of  evening,  in  silence.  At  length 
my  mother  proceeded,  “  Remember  these  children, 
O  Lord,  in  mercy  ;  sanctify  thy  fatherly  correction 
to  them,  endue  their  souls  with  patience  under  their 
affliction,  and  with  resignation  to  thy  blessed  will 
— comfort  them  with  a  sense  of  thy  goodness — lift  up 
thy  countenance  upon  them,  and  give  them  peace 
through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.” 

I  felt  that  I  wanted  peace,  but  at  this  time  I  knew 
little  about  “  that  peace  which  the  icorld  cannot 
give” 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  service,  my  mother 
appeared  perfectly  calm,  and  unagitated.  She  even 
seemed  happy.  This  was  not  the  case  with  me. — 
The  burthen  of  feeling  which  had  pressed  me  down, 
continued  to  rest  upon  me  with  its  weight. 


7 


I  scarcely  knew  what  hand  had  inflicted  this 
wound  in  my  heart.  But  I  wanted  comfort. 

And  as  I  had  seen  my  mother  derive  a  peace  of 
mind,  from  the  devotions  of  the  Prayer  Book,  I  be¬ 
took  myself  to  the  use  and  examination  of  it  in  se¬ 
cret.  In  the  use  of  all  its  prayers  I  found  that  I 
had  to  address  myself  to  God  in  the  acknowledged 
character  of  a  sinner.  I  began  to  feel  the  truth  of 
this  designation.  I  began  to  discover  that  the  mys¬ 
terious  burthen  under  which  I  was  labouring,  was 
the  burthen  of  unforgiven  sin,  and  then  I  anxiously 
looked  around  to  find  some  way,  by  which  I  could 
remove  this  burthen.  Here  again  I  had  recourse  to 
my  Prayer  Book.  It  told  me  I  never  could  remove 
that  burthen,  but  Jesus  Christ  must  take  it  off.  I 
went  to  the  Bible,  and  that  told  me  the  same  thing. 

My  mind  during  the  two  following  weeks  under¬ 
went  various  exercises.  I  had  revealed  my  feelings 
to  no  one.  My  mother  continued  to  read  the  service 
on  Sunday,  and  to  assemble  us  for  family  prayer 
every  night  and  morning.  It  was  during  morning 
prayer  on  the  third  Sunday  after  my  father’s  death, 
when,  in  the  Litany,  my  mother  uttered  this  invoca¬ 
tion,  “  O  Lamb  of  God  who  taketh  away  the  sins 
of  the  world,”  that  in  repeating  the  response  11  grant 
us  thy  peace,”  I  first  felt  the  meaning  of  this  peti¬ 
tion,  and  as  I  uttered  it,  I  felt  a  peace  more  than 
earthly,  gently  stealing  over  my  soul.  And  when 
the  same  maternal  voice,  repeated  the  invocation 
“  O  Lamb  of  God  who  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the 
world,”  my  heart  was  filled  with  gratitude,  and  my 
eyes  with  tears,  as  I  joined  the  response,  “  Have 
mercy  upon  us” 

I  continued  to  conceal  my  feelings.  Still  I  was 
conscious  that  I  was  changed.  My  heart  was  filled 


8 

with  love.  As  I  walked  into  the  field  I  could  see 
the  goodness  of  God  inscribed  upon  every  plant  or 
flower.  These  were  discoveries  that  never  before 
anested  my  attention.  My  Bible  began  to  appear 
moie  and  more  precious  to  me,  and  I  was  constantly 
longing  for  the  return  of  the  hallowed  day  of  rest. 

.fven™£.  as  J  sat  reading  to  my  mother,  all 
the  family  at  this  time  being  out  of  the  room,  as  I 
came  to  this  passage,  “  Therefore  if  any  man  be  in 
Christ  he  is  a  new  creature,”  I  stopped  and  asked 
her  how  she  understood  this  passage.  My  parents 
had  often  explained  to  me  the  meaning  of  various  parts 
of  scripture,  but  I  had  never  before  presumed  to  solicit 
an  exposition,  and  upon  a  moments  reflection  felt  al¬ 
most  astonished  at  myself  for  having  done  so  at  this 
time.  Nothing  however  could  have  more  delighted  my 
mother.  She  immediately  gave  me  a  clear  and  suc¬ 
cinct  account  of  the  fall  and  depravity  of  our  race 
the  atonement  of  Christ,  the  agency  of  the  Spirit 
and  the  nciv  creation  effected  by  that  agency.  She 
then  described  the  views,  feelings  and  affections  of  a 
man  while  in  a  state  of  nature,  and  compared  them 
with  the  views,  feelings,  and  affections  of  that  same 
man  after  having  been  renewed  by  divine  grace. 

My  attention  was  rivetted,  and  my  heart  filled  with 
trepidation.  She  had  described  my  case  exactly. 

{  ha(^  dlS(^osed  my  feelings  to  no  one,  yet  she  de¬ 
lineated  them  with  the  utmost  precision.  She  con¬ 
cluded  her  remarks  by  saying  “  that  no  one,  unless 
he  was  in  Christ  and  therefore  a  new  creature,  must 

fz  SaJe^  U  this>  the  h°Pe  gathered 
7°  m  the  blood  of  sprinkling,  that  sustained  and 
comforted  your  father  in  his  last  ao-ony.” 

My  mother,”  said  I,  “  I  believe  I  am  in  Christ 
Jesus,  tor  1  am  conscious  that  I  am  a  new  creature.” 


9 


I  then  related  to  her  the  history  of  my  exercises 
and  told  how  the  prayers  of  the  service,  and  her 
reading  of  them,  had  by  the  blessing  of  God  been 
made  the  instrument  both  of  my  conviction  and  of 
my  conversion. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  delights  of  this  ^moment. 
My  mother  threw  her  arms  around  me  and  exclaim¬ 
ed  “Robert,  when  I  first  pressed  thy  infant  form,  my 
first  born  child,  to  my  heart,  my  bosom  thrilled  with 
ecstasy  ;  but  the  delight  I  then  felt  was  nothing  com¬ 
pared  with  that  I  feel  in  holding  thee  in  my  em¬ 
brace,  now  that  thou  art  indeed  a  child  of  God.” 

Having  revealed  my  feelings  to  one  human  being, 
I  no  longer  felt  that  it  would  be  sacrilege  to  disclose 
them  to  others.  I  began  to  think  it  was  my  duty  to 
speak  to  my  younger  brother  about  the  momentous 
concerns  of  eternity. 

For  several  days  I  made  frequent  resolutions  to 
do  it,  but  as  often  as  an  opportunity  presented,  my 
heart  failed  me  and  I  could  not  bring  myself  up  to 
the  effort. 

I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  have  often  observed, 
that  we  feel  much  more  reluctance  in  speaking  to 
our  family  friends  on  the  subject  of  religion,  than 
we  do  in  speaking  to  others. 

Several  days  had  elapsed  since  I  had  communi¬ 
cated  my  feelings  to  my  mother.  My  brother  and 
myself  were  working  together  in  the  same  field.  In 
my  morning  devotions  I  had  fervently  implored  di¬ 
vine  direction  in  relation  to  the  communication  I 
had  determined  to  make  that  day  to  him.  A  short 
suspension  of  our  labours  brought  the  desired  oppor¬ 
tunity.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  my  feelings, 
nor  his  agitation.  I  soon  found  that  his  feelings 
and  views  had  undergone  the  same  change  that  mine 


10 


had,  and  that  he  ascribed  his  first  serious  impressions 
to  the  performances  of  the  interesting  Sabbath  that 
followed  my  father’s  death.  This  intelligence  in 
relation  to  my  brother  was  of  course  delightful 
tidings  to  my  mother.  She  saw  new  evidence  that 
God  does  all  things  well,  and  that  he  can  make  the 
most  afflictive  dispensations  immediately  subservient 
to  his  purposes  of  mercy. 

She  proposed  that  I  should  now  act  as  the  Chap¬ 
lain  to  the  family.  I  according  acceded  to  her  re¬ 
quest  and  performed  divine  service  regularly  on 
Sundays  from  that  time  to  the  organization  of  an 
Episcopal  Church  in  this  community,  a  period  of 
almost  twenty  years.  As  the  land  around  us  began 
to  be  taken  up,  and  settlers  came  in,  several  of  our 
neighbours  repaired  to  our  house  regularly  on  Sun¬ 
days.  They  at  first  came  out  of  curiosity,  but  in 
time  they  became  attached  to  the  Liturgy  and  sub¬ 
stantially  pious.  And  several  of  these  individuals 
ascribed  their  first  religious  impressions  to  the  so¬ 
lemn  and  sublime  devotions  of  the  Prayer  Book. 
Thus  a  regular  performance  of  the  liturgy  in  a  pri¬ 
vate  family  was  the  means  not  only  of  laying  the 
foundation  of  a  Church,  but  of  awakening  numbers 
to  seriousness.” 


UESTTZlll  IX, 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Gospel  Messenger . 


I  introduced  the  narrative  of  Robert  Mc’Ellen,  to 
portray,  in  his  own  language,  the  scene  which  he 
witnessed  the  next  Sunday  after  his  father’s  death, 
and  which  Divine  Providence  made  the  instrument  of 
his  conversion.  This  narrative  I  received  in  manu¬ 
script  from  him,  and  now  have  it  before  me.  I  can 
in  no  way  so  well  continue  the  history  of  the  Mc’- 
Ellen  family,  as  by  copying  this  manuscript.  It 
proceeds  as  follows  : 

“  Divine  Providence  continued  to  send  afflictions 
along  with  our  comforts.  In  about  six  weeks  after 
my  father’s  death,  three  of  the  youngest  members 
of  our  family — a  brother  and  two  sisters,  were  within 
a  few  days  of  each  other,  called  from  time  to  eter¬ 
nity.  My  mother  had  scarcely  recovered  from  the 
fatigue  occasioned  by  attendance  upon  my  father 
during  his  last  illness,  when  she  was  again  called  to 
spend  wakeful  nights  by  the  bed-side  of  her  sick  and 
dying  children.  The  fatigue  she  had  to  endure,  was 
increased  by  the  circumstances  of  our  situation.  The 
country  was  then  so  new,  and  thinly  inhabited,  that 
we  could  scarcely  be  said  to  have  neighbours.  Around 
us  on  all  sides,  spread  the  dense  and  lengthening 
forest.  When  night  came  on,  the  howl  of  the  wolf 
was  heard,  but  no  friendly  and  kind-hearted  neigh¬ 
bours  entered  our  dwelling  to  watch  by  the  bed-side 
of  the  sick. 


12 


The  fatigue  occasioned  by  continual  watching, 
and  the  anguish  with  which  my  mother’s  heart  was 
wrung,  in  following  her  husband  and  three  of  her 
children,  within  so  short  a  time  of  each  other,  to  the 
grave,  brought  on  a  fever.  From  the  commencement 
of  her  illness,  she  had  a  strong  presentiment  that  she 
should  never  rise  from  that  sick  bed.  Several  of  the  j 
ties  that  once  bound  her  to  the  earth,  were  now  bro¬ 
ken. — One  half  of  her  children  were  gone.  The 
partner  of  her  toils  and  hopes  was  sleeping  in  the 
earth.  In  all  these  dispensations  she  recognised  tlio 
hand  of  God.  She  did  not  repine.  The  same  fever 
which  cut  down  my  father,  was  now  burning  through 
her  veins.  She  thought  she  should  die.  One  even¬ 
ing  she  called  us  all  around  her  bed,  and  told  us  so. 
“  And  now,”  said  she,  “  my  children,  remember  this 
hour.  See  me  here  all  weakness — all  pain.  Of  what 
avail  to  me  would  now  be  all  the  honours,  and  plea¬ 
sures,  and  wealth  of  the  world.  To  me  they  now  ap¬ 
pear  lighter  than  the  dust  in.  the  balance.  There  is 
but  one  object  upon  which  my  eye  rests  with  satisfac¬ 
tion  ;  and  that  object  is  Christ  crucified.  O,  my 
children,  if  you  would  have  the  arms  of  everlasting 
mercy  underneath  you  in  such  an  hour  as  this,  join 
yourselves  by  a  perpetual  covenant,  unto  the  Saviour 
of  sinners;  follow  him  through  life,  and  he  will  sup¬ 
port  you  in  death.”  She  then  charged  me  and  my 
brother  to  be  an  example  and  pattern  to  our  young 
orphan  sister.  She  said,  that  she  felt  no  reluctance 
in  resigning  her  soul  to  her  heavenly  father.  She 
felt  no  reluctance  in  committing  her  children  to  the 
care  and  kindness  of  that  God  to  whom  she  had  de¬ 
dicated  them  in  baptism.  She  had  but  one  earthly 
wish,  and  that  was,  that  she  might  once  moro  before 


13 


she  left  this  clay  tenement,  receive  the  con'secrated 
symbols  of  her  Saviour’s  dying  love. 

It  so  happened,  that  on  that  very  evening,  there 
arrived  at  our  abode  some  of  our  old  acquaintances 
from  the  place  of  my  nativity.  They  were  of  course 
distressed  by  our  affliction.  The  conversation  very 
soon  took  a  serious  turn.  I  mentioned  my  mother’s 
request,  and  lamented  that  we  were  so  far  removed 
from  any  clergyman.  Our  friends  then  told  us  that 

in  the  town  of  M - ,  where  they  stayed  two  nights 

before,  they  met  some  of  their  old  friends  who  had 
taken  up  their  residence  in  that  town  a  number  of 
years  previous.  Among  the  other  intelligence  that 
they  had  to  communicate  to  them,  was,  that  a  Mis¬ 
sionary  of  the  Episcopal  church  had  preached  several 
times  to  them,  and  was  designing  to  spend  a  number 
of  weeks  in  that  quarter ;  and  that  although  they  had 
formerly  had  strong  prejudices  against  that  church, 
they  began  to  think  more  favourably  of  it. 

No  sooner  had  I  received  this  information,  than 
my  resolution  was  taken.  I  determined  to  start  with 

the  earliest  dawn  for  M - .  I  sat  by  the  bed-side 

of  my  mother  till  the  first  faint  streaks  of  light  began 
to  appear  in  the  eastern  sky.  I  then  gently  pressed 
her  hand  in  mine,  and  told  her  that  I  was  going' 
after  the  man  of  God ,  and  would  soon  return.  I 
immediately  went  to  the  door,  but  ere  I  closed  it,  I 
turned  to  gaze  again  upon  the  face  of  my  dear  mother 
A  death-like  expression  sat  upon  that  face.  I  closed 
the  door.  The  heavens  were  still  hung  with  black¬ 
ness — a  sense  of  perfect  desolateness  came  over 
me.  The  thought  was  strongly  impressed  upon  my 
mind,  that  I  should  never  again  see  my  mother  alive 
I  felt  anxious  to  gratify  the  wish  she  had  expressed  ; 
yet  I  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  her  dying 

2 


14 


while  I  was  absent.  My  hand  was  still  on  the  door 
when  I  heard  her  faintly  articulate  my  name.  I 
hastily  raised  the  latch,  and  went  to  her  bed.  “  My 
son,”  said  she,  “  do  not  leave  me,  until  you  have 
commended  me  to  God  in  prayer.”  I  felt  I  had 
done  wrong.  My  heart,  however,  was  too  full  to 
speak.  I  took  down  the  Prayer  Book,  and  opened 
to  the  prayer  “  for  a  sick  person.”  Never  before  did 
words  sink  so  deep  into  my  soul.  It  seemed  to  me 
as  though  this  prayer  had  been  formed  on  purpose 
for  that  occasion — it  suited  so  exactly  to  the  case, 
w'nd  accorded  so  perfectly  with  my  feelings.  No 
other  words  could  have  unburthened  my  heart. 
Kneeling  by  the  bed-side,  I  thus  prayed  : 

“  O  Father  of  mercies,  and  God  of  all  comfort, 
our  only  help  in  time  of  need,  look  down  from  hea¬ 
ven,  we  humbly  beseech  thee,  behold,  visit,  and  re¬ 
lieve  this  thy  sick  servant.  Look  upon  her  with 
the  eyes  of  thy  mercy  ;  comfort  her  with  a  sense  of 
thy  goodness  ;  preserve  her  from  the  temptations  of 
the  enemy  ;  give  her  patience  under  her  affliction ; 
and,  in  thy  good  time,  restore  her  to  health,  and 
enable  her  to  lead  the  residue  of  her  life  in  thy  fear, 
and  to  thy  glory  :  or  else  give  her  grace  so  to  take 
thy  visitation,  that  after  this  painful  life  is  ended, 
she  may  dwell  with  thee  in  life  everlasting,  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.” 

I  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  of  this  prayer, 
than  my  mind  felt  relieved.  My  heart  grew  lighter. 
I  had  committed  my  mother  into  the  hands  of  God, 
and  I  felt  that  she  was  safe. 

It  required  but  a  few  minutes  to  get  my  horse  in 
readiness,  and  I  rode  -forward  with  a  bounding 

heart  towards  M - .  The  sun  had  sunk  below 

th®  western  horizon  before  I  reached  the  place  of  my 


15 


destination.  The  distance  I  had  to  travel  was  up¬ 
wards  of  forty  miles.  This,  considering  the  country 
I  had  to  pass  through,  was  a  fatiguing  ride.  Some 
part  of  the  way,  the  trees  were  barely  cut  down  to 
designate  the  road  ;  and  in  other  parts,  the  traveller 
had  no  other  guide  than  the  marks  that  had  been 
made  by  an  incision  in  the  trees.  The  weary  way 
was  at  length  passed  over.  I  found  the  Missionary 
at  the  house  of  a  respectable  farmer.  I  told  him  my 
errand.  The  tear  glistened  in  his  eye  as  I  briefly 
told  him  the  story  of  our  afflictions.  He  promptly 
said  he  would  accompany  me  on  the  morrow.  The 
farmer  kindly  offered  me  a  bed,  to  which  I  soon  re¬ 
tired  ;  not  however  till  we  had  kneeled  around  the 
family  altar. 

We  were  on  our  way  early  the  next  morning 
There  was  nothing  morose  or  repulsive  in  the  coun¬ 
tenance  or  manners  of  the  missionary.  Although 
sedate,  he  was  very  cheerful.  Although  dignified, 
he  had  the  happy  faculty  of  drawing  one  immediately 
into  familiar  conversation.  We  rode  along  together 
for  a  number  of  miles,  conversing  about  things  that 
were  neither  altogether  secular,  nor  altogether  reli¬ 
gious.  As  I  was  a  stranger  to  him,  he  wished  to 
elicit  my  views.  He  soon  discovered  that  I  had  a 
love  for  religion,  and  before  I  was  aware  of  it,  drew 
from  me  the  whole  history  of  my  religious  exercises. 
I  told  him  I  wished  to  join  my  mother  in  partaking 
of  the  Holy  Communion.  He  replied  that  the  test 
for  self-examination  was  well  expressed  in  our  Cate¬ 
chism. — “  Those  who  desire  to  come  to  the  Lord’s 
Supper,  are  to  examine  themselves  whether  they  re¬ 
pent  them  truly  of  their  former  sins,  steadfastly  pur¬ 
posing  to  lead  a  new  life — have  a  lively  faith  in  God’s 


16 


mercy,  through  Christ,  with  a  thankful  remembrance 
©1  his  death,  and  be  in  charity  with  all  men  ” 
Repentance,  reformation,  faith,  love  to  God  and 
to  our  fellow  men,  were,  he  said,  included  in  this  re¬ 
quirement.  “  And  our  church,”  continued  he  “  de¬ 
signs  to  admit  no  one  to  the  sacramental  table  who 
does  not  give  evidence  of  these  qualifications.”’  The 
conversation  continued  upon  this  and  similar  subjects 
through  the  remainder  of  the  day ;  and  I  derived  much 
edification  and  instruction  from  the  discourse  of  this 
godly  man.  His  conversation  quite  beguiled  the  te¬ 
diousness  of  the  journey;  and  almost  before  I  thought 
©t  it,  we  had  arrived  in  view  of  our  cottage.  I  hastily 
rode  forward  sprung  from  my  horse,  and  rushed  into 
the  house  I  met  my  brother  Joseph  at  the  door. 

Is  she  alive  ?”  said  I,  but  did  not  wait  for  an  an¬ 
swer— I  was  instantly  by  her  bed-side,  and  found  her 
more  comfortable  than  when  I  left  her.  The  Mis- 
Sionary  understood  the  language  of  affection,  and  did 
not  think  it  rudeness,  though  I  left  him  so  uncere- 

moniously.  My  brother  took  charge  of  his  horse,  and 
invited  him  in. 

The  next  morning  was  mentioned  as  the  time  of 
(Celebrating  the  communion.  In  the  course  of  the 
evening,  the  missionary  received  such  evidence  from 
my  brother’s  conversation,  of  his  having  passed 
through  the  new  birth  unto  righteousness,”  that  he 
advised  him  to  receive  the  sacrament  on  the  morrow. 

r*ls  C01J^ersati0n  with  my  mother  was  very  reviving 
t  o  her.  He  seemed  to  us  all  like  a  ministering  angef 
He  spoke  to  my  sister  Mary,  and  intreated"  her  to 
join  her  brothers,  now  that  they  were  on  their  way  to 
Zion.  Mary  was  only  fifteen  years  old  at  this  time. 
Her  heart  was  all  tenderness  and  sensibility.  She 


17 


could  not  speak,  but  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  Since 
my  father's  death  she  had  been  apparently  very 
thoughtful  and  serious.  I  had  once  or  twice  seen 
the  tears  gush  from  her  eyes,  while  reading  to  her¬ 
self  in  the  Bible :  but  the  moment  she  perceived  I 
observed  her,  she  made  an  effort  to  be  more  than  or¬ 
dinarily  cheerful.  I  supposed  that  these  effusions 
of  sensibility  were  called  forth  by  the  recollection  of 
the  death  of  her  little  sisters,  and  her  father. 

The  morning  came.  It  was  in  one  of  the  summer 
months.  All  nature  was  fresh  and  fair.  The  sun 
was  pouring  down  his  warm  rays  upon  the  smiling 
earth. — Sometime  before  the  appointed  hour  for  ce¬ 
lebrating  the  holy  eucharist,  I  walked  out  for  the  pur¬ 
pose  of  religious  meditation.  I  directed  my  course 
towards  a  large  tree  that  stood  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  house,  that  I  might  enjoy  the  coolness  of  its 
shade.  As  I  approached  the  tree,  I  observed  the 
slender  form  of  my  sister.  She  was  in  the  act  of 
prayer,  and  on  her  knees.  I  stole  softly  along  to  her 
side,  without  apprizing  her  of  my  presence.  She 
seemed  to  be  pouring  out  her  soul  in  all  the  fervency 
of  devotion.  She  was  so  young  and  so  amiable,  and 
appeared  so  interesting,  and  so  heavenly,  in  the  lone 
field,  lifting  up  her  heart  to  God,  that  I  could  hardly 
refrain  from  weeping.  She  was  startled,  when  having 
finished  her  devotions  she  discovered  me  at  her  side. 
But  I  clasped  her  in  my  arms,  pressed  her  to  my 
bosom,  and  told  her  it  gave  me  more  pleasure  to  see 
her  where  I  had  seen  her,  than  it  would  to  have  seen 
her  on  a  throne.  She  wept  and  sobbed  aloud  for  a 
long  time.  At  length  she  said,  “  O  that  I  was  a 
Christian.”  I  tried  to  point  out  the  way  in  which  she 
should  seek  to  be  one  indeed.  I  soon  learnt  that  her 
mind  was  religiously  impressed  at  the  very  time,  and  by 

2* 


IS 


the  very  circumstances  that  mine  was.  That  whicli 
agitated  her  on  the  present  occasion  was,  her  anxiety 
to  join  us  in  partaking  of  the  Lord’s  Supper.  Al¬ 
though  she  had  for  some  time  felt  a  heavenly  peace 
of  mind,  still  she  had  such  a  deep  sense  of  her  own 
unworthiness,  that  it  jnade  her  tremble  to  think  of 
presuming  to  approach  the  table  of  the  Lord.  By 
her  consent  I  went  to  the  house  and  intimated  to 
the  Missionary  that  I  wished  to  take  a  short  walk- 
with  him  :  I  immediately  retraced  my  steps  to  the 
same  tree,  and  on  the  way  informed  him  of  the  ob¬ 
ject  for  which  I  had  called  him  out.  He  appeared 
thoughtful,  but  said  nothing. 

When  we  had  come  where  my  sister  was,  he  sat 
himself  down  in  the  shade,  and  with  an  affectionate 
voice  said,  “  I  am  rejoiced,  Mary,  to  hear  that  you 
are  desirous  to  set  your  face  towards  Zion.  The 
Holy  Eucharist  which  we  are  soon  to  celebrate,  is 
designed  ‘to  strengthen  and  refresh  our  souls,’  that 
‘  we  may  run  and  not  be  weary,  and  that  we  may 
walk  and  not  faint.’  ” 

He  then  took  a  Prayer  Book  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  continued,  “You  feel  too  unworthy  to  come  to 
'the  feast  of  the  Lamb.  I  will  read  you  part  of  the 
prayer  in  the  communion  service,  immediately  be¬ 
fore  the  consecration  of  the  elements,  which  is  said 
in  the  name  of  all  those  who  are  about  to  receive 
the  communion.  ‘We  do  not  presume  to  come  to 
this  thy  table,  O  merciful  Lord,  trusting  in  our  own 
righteousness,  but  in  thy  manifold  and  great  mercies. 
We  are  not  worthy  so  much  as  to  gather  up  the 
crumbs  under  thy  table.  But  thou  art  the  same 
Lord,  whose  property  is  always  to  have  mercy.’  You 
•see  that  none  of  us  trust  in  our  own  worthiness — • 
hut  in  the  worthiness  of  Christ.  In  going  to  the 


19 


sacrament,  you  go  trusting  in  the  name  and  merits 
of  Jesus.  If  you  have  truly  repented  of  your  sins, 
and  are  resolved  to  lead  a  new  life,  by  refusing  to 
go  to  the  table  of  the  Lord,  you  declare  that  you 
have  not  faith  in  the  atoning  blood  of  Christ.”  We 
all  returned  in  company  to  tlje  house.  The  hour 
.  had  arrived  for  the  service  to  commence. 

All  that  have  ever  witnessed  the  celebration  of  the 
Lord’s  Supper  in  public,  agreeably  to  the  service  of 
our  church,  pronounce  it  the  most  impressive  scene 
that  they  ever  witnessed.  But  there  is  something 
still  more  impressive  where  it  is  celebrated  in  a  sick 
room. 

The  idea  that  one  of  the  persons  who  is  about  to 
partake  of  the  sacred  elements,  will  in  a  few  hours 
partake  of  the  feast  of  the  Lamb  in  the  kingdom 
of  God,  spreads  an  awe  and  sacredness  over  every 
*  thing  around  us.  This  person,  is  one  of  our  family 
friends  to  whom  we  feel  endeared  by  ten  thousand 
sacred  recollections.  Perhaps  it  is  a  mother.  The 
traces  of  the  bony  fingers  of  death  appear  on  her 
countenance.  That  eye  which  watched  over  us  in 
infancy  and  childhood,  is  faded  and  sunken.  That 
look  of  kindness  which  dwelt  so  fondly  on  us  has 
almost  disappeared  beneath  the  pale  signet  of  the 
king  of  terrors.  ‘  There  lies  my  mother,  whose  bo¬ 
som  was  my  pillow,  and  whose  arms  were  my  cradle. 
She  is  receiving  the  bread  and  wine  for  the  last 
time  on  earth.  Soon  that  dear  form  will  be  beneath 
the  turf,  and  that  pure  spirit  beyond  the  skies.’  O 
there  is  enough  in  these  thoughts  to  hallow  every 
feeling ! 

I  know  not  what  may  be  the  objection  that  other 
denominations  have  to  administering  the  communion 
to  the  sick,  but  I  believe  it  is  not  practised  by  any 


20 


of  the  Protestant  Churches  except  our  own.  It  is 
certainly  an  act  which  invigorates  the  soul  of  the 
sick,  and  makes  deep  and  lasting  impressions  upon 
those  who  witness  it. 

Such  at  all  events  were  the  happy  effects  of  the 
administration  of  the  Lord’s  Supper,  in  the  instance 
I  am  now  speaking  of. 

The  service  commenced.  The  voice  of  the  Mis¬ 
sionary  on  this  occasion  was  more  than  usually  soft 
and  plaintive.  He  was  a  man  of  sensibility.  He 
had  heard  the  story  of  our  afflictions,  and  he  was 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  our  blessings.  The 
promptings  of  his  own  heart  expounded  to  him  the 
meaning  of  that  sacred  injunction,  “  of  weeping 
with  those  that  weep.”  To  me  the  whole  scene 
was  a  scene  of  intense  interest.  As  the  service  pro¬ 
ceeded,  my  thoughts  became  completely  engrossed 
in  the  devotions  of  this  sublime  office.  I  was  parti¬ 
cularly  struck  with  the  confession .  It  seemed  to  meet 
my  case  exactly.  Had  an  angel  dictated  it,  it  could 
not  have  expressed  more  fully  the  feelings  that  were 
thenglowing  in  my  bosom.  It  seemed  as  though  we  , 
were  in  the  very  porch  of  heaven  as  the  Missionary 
with  tremulous  and  silvery  tones,  breathed  forth  its 
penitential  acknowledgments — “  Almighty  God,  Fa¬ 
ther  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  Maker  of  all  things. 
Judge  of  all  men  ;  we  acknowledge  and  bewail  our 
manifold  sins  and  wickedness,  which  we  from  time 
to  time  most  grievously  have  committed  by  thought, 
word,  and  deed,  against  thy  divine  majesty;  provok¬ 
ing  most  justly  thy  wrath  and  indignation  against 
us.  We  do  earnestly  repent  and  are  heartily  sorry 
for  these  our  misdoings — the  remembrance  of  them 
is  grievous  unto  us — the  burthen  of  them  is  intolera¬ 
ble.  Have  mercy  upon  us,  have  mercy  upon  us,  most 


21 


3  merciful  Father.”  Never  before  did  I  feel  so  much 
e  the  weight  and  hatefulness  of  sin,  as  while  uttering 
1  this  confession.  Every  now  and  then  I  heard  my 
mother’s  voice  faintly  articulating  some  part  of  this 
'  prayer.  In  the  sublime  devotions  of  the  communion 
service,  her  thoughts  seemed  to  be  borne  away  from 
earth. 

The  elements  were  now  consecrated.  I  looked 
at  my  mother  and  saw  that  she  was  calm  and  tran¬ 
quil.  Her  eye  rested  upon  myself  and  my  brother, 
as  we  came  forward,  and  kneeled  before  the  table,  on 
which  were  placed  the  symbols  of  the  broken  and  bleed¬ 
ing  body  of  Jesus.  She  seemed  to  look  a  blessing  to¬ 
wards  us.  Twice  had  the  man  of  God  said,  '*  the  body 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  which  was  given  for  thee, 
preserve  thy  body  and  soul  unto  everlasting  life,”  be¬ 
fore  my  sister  left  her  seat, — she  then  rose  and  came, 
and  kneeled  by  my  side.  Her  whole  frame  shook  with 
emotion.  My  mother  knew  nothing  of  her  state  of 
mind,  or  of  her  determination. 

To  see  her  young  and  tender  daughter,  so  unex¬ 
pectedly  come  forward  and  consecrate  herself  to  God, 
aroused  in  her  bosom  a  tide  of  feeling  that  she  could 
t  not  control.  The  tears  rushed  down  her  cheeks,  and 
|  the  serenity,  that  had  rested  upon  her  countenance, 
fled.  She  drew  the  clothes  of  the  bed  over  her  face 
and  sobbed  aloud.  For  a  few  moments  there  was 
perfect  silence  in  the  room.  Then  in  trembling  ac¬ 
cents,  the  Missionary  proceeded  in  the  administra¬ 
tion  of  the  Sacrament.  He  went  to  my  mother  and 
presented  the  elements  to  her.  As  she  received  the 
sacred  chalice,  ere  she  raised  it  to  her  lips,  she  lifted 

I  up  her  eyes  and  said  aloud,  “  Lord,  now  lettest  thou 
thy  servant  depart  in  peace,  for  mine  eyes#have  seen 
thy  salvation.  Mine  eyes  have  seen  all  my  chil- 

IMlI  .  n 


22 


dren  eating  at  thy  table.  Giant  that  I  and  they  may 
sit  down  together  at  thy  table  in  thy  Kingdom  above. 

I  had  thought,  to  leave  these  children  orphans,  but 
they  cannot  be  orphans,  since  adopted  into  thy  family. 
Holy  Father,  keep  through  thine  own  name,  those 
whom  thou  hast  given  me.  I  pray  not  that  thou 
shouldst  take  them  out  of  the  world,  but  that  thou 
shouldst  keep  them  from  evil.” — 

I  must  here  break  off  the  narrative  of  Robert  Mc’- 
Ellen,  and  close  my  communication.  The  manu¬ 
script  that  I  have,  states,  that  Mrs.  Mc’Ellen’s  fever 
in  a  few  days  took  a  favourable  turn,  and  she  was 
speedily  restored  to  health.  It  gives  a  history  of  the 
family  up  to  the  time  of  my  acquaintance  with  them, 
in  which  are  to  be  found  several  interesting  details. 

I  may  give  you  some  of  these  sketches  at  some  future 
period.  In  my  next,  however,  I  intend  to  give  you  an  - 
account  of  a  scene  I  witnessed  in  this  family,  on  the 
Sunday  evening  that  I  preached  at  their  house. 


LETTER  XXX. 


ove. 

but 

%. 

osev 

on 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Gospel  3Iessenger . 


The  log-dwelling  that  had  formerly  been  occupied 
by  the  Mc’Ellen  family  had  been  removed,  and  in  its 
place  there  appeared  a  neat  and  spacious  farm-house. 
This  was  now  the  residence  of  Robert  Mc’Ellen,  in 
whose  family  his  aged  and  venerable  mother  was  an 
inmate. 

I  have  before  observed  that  it  was  in  the  month  of 
June,  when  I  first  approached  this  dwelling.  There 
did  not  then  spread  a  wide  and  impenetrable  forest 
around  it :  but  for  miles  in  every  direction  there 
stretched  before  the  delighted  eye  finely  cultivated 
fields,  luxuriant  orchards,  and  well-arranged  farm¬ 
houses — here  and  there  were  seen  fragments  of  that 
once  boundless  forest,  reserved  by  the  cultivator  of 
the  earth,  for  a  retreat  to  shelter  him  from  the  sum¬ 
mer’s  heat,  and  for  fuel  to  dispel  the  winter’s  cold. 
The  foliage  of  the  trees  at  this  time,  was  unusually 
thick,  rich,  and  beautiful.  Not  one  of  those  ten 
thousand  leaves  which  had  so  recently  burst  into  be¬ 
ing,  had  as  yet  felt  the  blighting  touch  of  the  worm, 
the  sun,  or  the  frost ;  but  they  all  appeared  fresh  and 
verdant. 

On  either  side  of  this  dwelling  were  wheat  fields 
waving  in  the  gentle  breeze,  in  all  the  luxuriance 
i  of  perfect  verdure. 

As  I  was  passing  through  this  rich  landscape, 
there  seemed  to  ascend  from  the  soft  and  beautiful 
bosom  of  the  earth  ton  thousand  sounds  of  praise  to 


24 


the  Great  Eternal. — There  was  much  in  the  scenery 
around  me,  connected  with  the  history  of  the  inhabit¬ 
ants  of  the  dwelling  I  was  approaching,  to  attune  my 
feelings  to  the  solemnities  of  worship. 

I  did  not  arrive  till  the  appointed  hour  of  service 
A  few  of  the  neighbours  had  come  in,  but  the  fami¬ 
lies  of  Robert  and  Joseph  Me’ Ellen,  being  very  nu¬ 
merous,  constituted  the  majority  of  the  congregation. 

I  was  led  immediately  into  the  room  where  this 
grave  and  devout  group  were  assembled.  Before  the 
chair  where  I  was  seated,  was  placed  a  cherry  stand, 
and  on  it  lay  a  Bible  and  Prayer-Book.  This  was 
the  very  piece  of  furniture,  and  these  the  very  books, 
with  which,  in  the  minds  of  that  family,  were  asso¬ 
ciated  so  many  sacred  recollections,  and  which,  the 
reader  will  readily  remember,  were  used  on  a  very 
interesting  occasion  twenty-five  years  before. 

Near  the  stand  sat  the  aged  and  venerable  Eliza¬ 
beth  Mc’Ellen.  As  the  minds  of  all  were  in  a  fit 
frame  for  devotion,  this  was  very  properly  considered 
no  time  for  formal  introductions.  But  although  I  had 
never  before  seen  this  worthy  woman,  I  could  not  be 
mistaken.  There  was  in  her  countenance,  which  age 
had  in  vain  strove  to  disfigure  with  wrinkles,  an  expres¬ 
sion  of  intelligence,  and  of  loftiness  of  purpose  that  I 
have  seldom  witnessed.  By  her  side  sat  her  daugh¬ 
ter,  who  had  rejected  numerous  advantageous  offers 
of  marriage,  from  her  unwillingness  to  be  separated,  or 
to  allow  any  of  her  affection  or  attention  to  be  with¬ 
drawn  from  her  mother. 

The  service  commenced  :  I  observed  with  pleasure 
that  Mrs.  Mc’Ellen  joined  audibly  in  the  responses,  and 
that  all  her  grand-children,  for  they  were  all  present, 
seemed  proud  to  imitate  her  example.  They  all  had 
their  prayer-books,  though  several  of  them  were  quite 


young,  and  all  seemed  to  unite  in  the  service  with 
interest  and  devotion.  How  differently  educated 
were  these  families,  who,  till  recently,  had  never  en- 
j  joyed  the  ministrations  of  the  sanctuary,  from  some 
that  I  have  seen  in  old  established  congregations ! 

These  parents  attached  some  meaning  to  the 
f  solemn  vow,  promise,  and  profession”  that  they 
made  in  the  name  of  their  children,  when  they  brought 
them  to  the  sacred  waters  of  baptism.  And  the  re¬ 
gard  they  continually  manifested  for  the  religious 
education  of  their  children,  was  seen  in  the  correct 
deportment  and  early  seriousness  of  those  children. 

On  the  present  occasion,  the  scene  was  truly  in¬ 
teresting.  It  must  have  been  a  scene,  upon  which 
an  angel  could  have  looked  down  with  a  smile.  As 
the  worshippers  kneeled  down  in  prayer,  the  place 
^  seemed  “  none  other  but  the  house  of  God  and  the 
gate  of  Heaven.”  Agreeably  to  the  excellent  provi¬ 
sion  of  our  admirable  liturgy,  the  devotions  were  not 
all  performed  by  one  voice  ;  but  there  went  up  many 
united  voices  together,  and  there  might  have  then 
been  heard  the  song  of  praise  ascending  from  the 
palsied  lip  of  age,  and  the  lisping  tongue  of  infancy. 

According  to  a  custom  which  I  have  found  useful 
on  such  occasions,  I  did  not  preach  a  written  sermon, 
but  discoursed  in  a  plain  and  familiar  manner  on  a 
passage  of  scripture,  leaving  something  to  be  suggest¬ 
ed  by  the  circumstances  around  me. 

The  passage  selected  for  this  occasion  was  the  fol¬ 
lowing — “  In  the  Lord  put  I  my  trust.”  Psalm  xi.  1. 

After  having  shown  the  ground  of  trust  in  God} 
and  what  it  is  to  trust  in  him,  I  proceeded  to  portray 
the  blessedness  of  trusting  in  him.  On  this  article 
H  felt  confident  that  I  was  saying  what  a  number 
around  me  were  able  to  bear  testimony  to.  And  as 

3 


26 


my  eye  fell  upon  the  aged  and  venerable  form  of  Mrs 
Mc’Ellen,  who  seemed  even  then  “ripe  for  the  hand 
of  the  reaper,  as  a  shock  of  corn  in  his  season,5' 
I  could  not  refrain  from  descanting  upon  the  power 
of  trust  in  God,  in  the  last  trying  hour  when  the  sun 
of  life  goes  down — upon  its  power  to  sustain  the  sink¬ 
ing  energies  of  the  soul,  in  that  awful  moment  when 
it  enters  the  dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 
“  Blessed  is  the  man  that  trusteth  in  the  Lord  for 
to  him,  in  the  hour  of  death,  the  Lord  will  be  a  Sun 
and  a  Shield — a  Sun  to  enlighten  the  dark  chasm 
through  which  he  must  pass,  and  a  Shield  to  protect 
him  from  the  fiery  darts  of  the  enemy.  It  is  in  this 
hour  that  the  Great  Shepherd  doth  carry  his  confiding 
children  in  his  arms,  and  bear  them  in  his  bosom  to 
the  haven  of  everlasting  rest. 

I  saw  these  remarks  went  to  the  heart  of  her,  who 
was  soon  to  test  their  truth  by  actual  experiment. 

The  Hymn  selected  to  close  the  religious  exercises 
was  the  41st. 

Though  feeble  and  infirm,  I  observed  that  Mi  s.  Me’ 
Ellen,  in  conformity  to  the  appropriate  custom  univer¬ 
sally  practised  in  our  church,  of  standing  while  prais¬ 
ing  God,  arose  at  the  commencement  of  the  Hymn. 
As  she  stood  among  those  who  were  lauding  the  Most 
High,  methought  there  was  a  form,  and  an  attitude, 
worthy  of  being  immortalized  by  the  hand  of  a  Ra¬ 
phael.  For  hers  had  been  one  of  the  first  order  of 
fine  forms — both  tall  and  graceful.  The  weight  of 
nearly  ninety  years  now  caused  her  to  stoop.  She 
united  her  voice  in  the  singing,  and  swelled  the  sound 
of  praise. 

The  sun  had  just  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  and 
had  left  that  beautiful  but  indescribable  aspect  on 
the  whole  face  of  nature,  which  you  have  often  seera 


on  a  summer’s  day  to  rest  upon  those  objects  over 
which  some  tree  hath  thrown  its  shade.  There  was 
a  universal  stillness  pervading  the  surrounding  scene; 
and  the  voice  of  the  singers  went  up  sweetly  to  the 
gates  of  Heaven.  To  the  last  line,  and  the  last  note 
in  the  last  line,  the  voice  of  Elizabeth  Mc’Ellenwas 
distinctly  heard.  Her  voice  seemed  to  swell  with 
richer  and  more  animated  sounds  in  the  concluding 
verse,  where  the  Christian’s  rest  is  anticipated, — 

“  There  I  shall  bathe  my  weary  soul 
In  seas  of  Heavenly  rest, 

And  not  a  wave  of  trouble  roll 
Across  my  peaceful  breast.” — 

This  was  her  last  earthly  song. — She  sunk  gently 
into  her  seat.  For  a  moment  a  slight  quivering  shook 
her  frame.  Then  all  motion  ceased.  Her  arms 
hung  nerveless  at  her  side,  and  her  head  reclined  on 
*  her  shoulder. 

The  voices  of  the  singers  were  raised  in  the  as¬ 
cription  of  praise  to  the  Triune  God,  but  her  spirit 
had  left  its  clay  tenement,  and  gone  to  sing  the  dox- 
ology  in  the  blissful  mansions  of  departed  saints:  had 
gone  to  “  bathe  in  seas  of  heavenly  rest.” 

I  shall  close  this  narration  with  an  account  of  her 
funeral. 


28 


KETTZSR  IV. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Gospel  Messenger 


No  one  that  has  been  bred  in  the  country  can  have 
witnessed  a  funeral  in  the  city  without  having  felt 
some  violence  done  to  the  sensibilities  of  his  heart. 
I  have  often  stood  at  the  corner  of  some  square,  upon 
whose  area  might  be  seen,  from  the  earliest  dawn 
even  to  the  midnight  hour,  bustling  thousands,  and 
observed  the  train  of  coaches  with  their  sable  equip¬ 
ments  moving  on  upon  their  melancholy  errand  with 
slow  and  solemn  pace  through  this  mass  of  beings, 
-  and  wondered  that  it  made  so  slight  an  impression 
upon  the  busy  crowd.  The  funeral  train,  as  it  passed, 
perhaps  flung  a  momentary  feeling  of  solemnity  upon 
the  lookers-on,  but  in  an  instant  the  impression  was 
gone.  It  was  like  a  passing  cloud  that  had  darkened 
for  one  fleeting  instant  the  splendor  of  the  sun,  and 
then  was  for  ever  lost  in  the  effulgence  of  his  bright 
beams.  There  was  no  fellow  feeling  between  the 
^ay  world  without,  and  the  broken-hearted  mourners 
within  those  vehicles. 

A  funeral  in  the  country  presents  a  different  as¬ 
pect.  When  death  enters  the  humblest  cottages,  the 
sympathies  of  the  community  are  awakened  :  the 
whole  surrounding  neighbourhood  participate  in  the 
feelings  of  the  bereaved,  and  go  to  pay  their  last  re¬ 
spect  to  the  dead.  At  the  appointed  hour  of  the  fu¬ 
neral,  there  may  be  seen  in  all  directions,  the  repose 
and  stillness  of  a  Sabbath  season. — -Men  who  on  no 


29 


other  occasion  are  present  to  witness  religious  exer¬ 
cises,  deem  it  a  debt  they  owe  to  society,  to  attend  all 
the  funerals  in  their  neighbourhood. 

The  worth,  distinguished  piety,  and  singular  death 
of  Elizabeth  Mc’Ellen  had  drawn  an  immense  con- 
course  of  people  to  witness  her  obsequies. 

Every  thing  was  in  readiness  when  I  arrived ; 
they  were  waiting  to  form  the  procession.  The 
burial  ground  was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant 
from  Robert  Mc’Ellen’s  house.  Twelve  strong¬ 
framed,  but  hoary  headed  men  had  been  selected  to 
bear  the  body  to  the  grave ;  and  on  each  side  of  the 
coffin  there  walked  three  aged  and  infirm  women  as 
pall-bearers.  Behind  the  coffin  followed  the  children 
and  grand-children  of  the  deceased,  and  in  their  rear 
the  promiscuous  multitude  who  had  been  drawn  to¬ 
gether  on  this  occasion  either  by  curiosity  or  regard 
‘for  the  deceased. 

The  procession  was  no  sooner  in  motion,  than  an 
aged  and  venerable  man,  whom  I  had  always  seen 
at  church  when  I  preached  at  my  missionary  station 
in  that  neighbourhood,  joined  me  and  walked  by  my 
side.  As  we  preceded  the  procecsion,  we  were  fre- 
|  quently  so  far  before  the  bearers  that  we  might  have 
with  propriety  engaged  in  conversation.  But  I  was 
too  deeply  impressed  with  the  solemnity  of  the  pre¬ 
sent  scene,  and  the  recollection  of  the  past  history  of 
f  this  family,  to  open  my  lips.  For  a  short  distance 
we  moved  on  in  silence ;  then  in  a  subdued  and  un¬ 
der  tone  of  voice,  the  aged  man  said  “Elizabeth  has 
gone  to  rest.” 

I  replied  “  that  I  believed  she  had  died,  having  the 
testimony  of  a  good  conscience,  in  the  communion 
of  the  catholic  church,  in  the  confidence  of  a  certain 
i  faith,  in  the  comfort  of  a  reasonable,  religious,  and 


30 

holy  hope,  in  favour  with  God,  and  in  perfect  chanty  k 
with  the  world.”  j  s! 

“  O  yes,”  said  the  honest  and  warm-hearted  man,  i  I 
“  I  have  known  her  for  a  long  time.  I  lived  on  the  i  ti 
hill  yonder  when  all  this  country  was  covered  with  t 
woods — wrhen  the  neighbours  could  not  see  each  |  \ 
other’s  houses.  I  have  known  Elizabeth  ever  since.  u 
When  we  first  came  into  this  country,  I  thought  I  I 
would  go  down  one  Sunday  and  get  acquainted  with  \ 
the  Mc’Ellen  family.  I  had  never  thought  much 
about  religion,  and  expected  to  find  the  folks  there 
thinking  and  feeling  as  I  did. 

On  the  way  I  thought  of  a  thousand  amusing  things 
to  say,  and  was  determined  to  convince  them  that  I 
was  a  clever  fellow.  I  therefore  entered  the  house 
without  much  ceremony ;  but  in  an  instant  all  my 
merry  thoughts  were  gone.  Instead  of  finding  the 
family  lounging  round  in  idleness,  or  engaged  in  some  v?| 
amusement,  the  first  thing  that  struck  my  eye  was 
the  whole  family  on  their  knees,  except  Robert,  who 
just  the  moment  I  entered,  was  reading  the  fourth 
Commandment  “  Remember  that  thou  keep  holy  the 
Sabbath  day.”  My  attention  was  rivetted — my  con¬ 
science  began  to  awake.  And  when  at  the  close 
of  the  commandment,  they  all  around  the  room,  young 
and  old,  put  up  this  petition,  “  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  us,  and  incline  our  hearts  to  keep  this  law 
I  experienced  sensations  that  I  shall  never  forget. 
When  the  service  and  sermon  were  through,  the 
family  very  cordially  welcomed  me  to  their  house, 
saying  that  they  would  have  church  the  next  Sun¬ 
day,  and  should  be  happy  if  I  would  attend.  I  re¬ 
turned  home,  thoughtful.  The  sermon  that  was 
read  dwelt  upon  my  mind.  The  subject  was  the 
use  of  the  means  of  grace :  and  the  object  of  the 


31 


1  discourse  was  to  show  that  we  never  need  to  expect 
salvation  until  we  sought  for  it,  and  sought  for  it  in 
i  the  appointed  way.  All  this  was  contrary  to  the 
creed  of  my  forefathers.  I  had  been  early  taught 
that  man  can  do  nothing  towards  obtaining  salvation, 
and  that  he  must  wait  until  moved  by  the  irresisti¬ 
ble  grace  of  God.  Still  I  thought  the  sermon  I  had 
heard,  had  a  good  deal  of  good  sense  and  scripture 
on  its  side.  I  mused  on  this  subject  most  of  the 
following  week.  The  next  Sunday,  I  and  my  wife 
Jane  went  down  to  the  Me’ Ellens  and  stayed  through 
both  Services.  Jane’s  heart,  I  believe,  was  more  tender 
than  mine.  She  was  entirely  overcome  by  the  sermon, 
which  was  on  this  text,  “  What  shall  it  profit  a  man, 
if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul]” 
Jane  was  so  much  affected  that  she  wept.  Mrs. 
Mc’Ellen  had  a  tender  heart. — As  soon  as  the  exer- 
'  Vises  were  through,  she  went  to  Jane  and  kindly  took 
her  by  the  hand,  and  told  her  she  was  happy  to  see 
her,  and  form  an  acquaintance  with  her — but  most 
of  all,  happy  to  see  that  she  felt  interested  in  the  mo- 
i  mentous  concerns  of  eternity. 

"  No,”  said  Jane,  “  I  have  neglected  these  things 
I  all  my  life,  and  I  fear  I  have  lost  my  soul.” 

I  shall  never  forget  with  what  a  look  of  kindness 
Elizabeth  Mc’Ellen  then  fixed  her  eyes  upon  Jane. 
“  No,”  said  she,  “  my  dear  woman,  there  is  an  all- 
sufficient  Saviour  for  you.”  She  then  talked  so  en¬ 
gagingly  and  affectionately  about  Jesus,  and  his  dying 
for  poor  sinners,  that  she  made  us  all  weep. 

On  our  way  home,  my  wife  said  to  me  u  James, 
[  why  have  we  not  thought  of  these  things  before  ? — 
What  will  it  profit  us,  if  we  gain  the  whole  world, 
and  at  last  lose  our  souls  V*  My  heart  was  too  full  to 
1  make  any  reply. 


From  this  time,  Jane  began  to  read  her  Bible  and 
pray. — She  soon  found  peace. 

After  this  we  attended  church  at  the  house  of  the  ! 
Mc’EIlens,  constantly. 

O  yes,  it  was  Elizabeth  Mc’Ellen  that  first  turned 
the  eye  of  my  poor  Jane  to  Jesus.  Poor  Jane  !  She 
died  about  three  years  ago ;  but  she  died  blessing  ; 
Elizabeth  Mc’Ellen,  and  rejoicing  in  God  her  Sa¬ 
viour.”  , 

Here  the  worthy  man  drew  the  back  of  his  hand 
across  his  face  to  brush  away  the  big  tears  that  had 
gushed  forth  at  the  remembrance  of  his  departed  wife. 

He  then  continued - “  Yes,  Elizabeth  has  done 

much  for  us.  It  was  she  that  first  tore  from  me  the 
belief,  that  if  saved  at  all,  I  should  be  saved  by  a  par-* 
ticular  decree  of  election  from  all  eternity.  She  tore 
from  me  this  broken  reed  upon  which  I  was  leaning. 
It  was  she  that  brought  me  fully  to  see  myself  as  a* 
sinner,  standing  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  and  needing 
an  infinite  Sayiour.  It  was  she  that  first  taught  me 
to  see  the  excellencies  of  that  invaluable  treasure  the 
Prayer  Pooh — the  book  next,  in  my  mind,  to  the 
Bible.  Its  prayers  have  not  only  helped  my  devo¬ 
tions,  but  have  taught  me  how  to  live ;  and  in  some 
measure,  I  hope,  prepared  me  to  die. 

Yes,  she  taught  me  to  love  the  Prayer  Book  :  and 
I  thank  my  God  that  I  know  something  of  its  worth. 

I  find  I  can  in  no  other  way  get  so  far  into  the  porch 
of  Heaven,  as  with  its  words  in  my  mouth,  and  its 
sentiments  glowing  in  my  heart.” 

My  friend  would  have  continued  his  conversation, 
but  we  had  now  already  entered  the  gate  of  the  burial 
ground;  and  the  moment  had  arrived,  when  one  of 
the  most  impressive  offices  of  that  liturgy  which  he 
&ad  been  so  highly  eulogizing,  was  to  commence* 


33 


The  ground  allotted  to  the  dead,  was  guarded  from 
le  the  unhallowed  tread  of  beasts,  by  a  strong  enclosure. 

The  spot  was  some  distance  from  the  road, 
j  Near  the  gate  of  the  grave  yard  there  was  a  cluster 
e  of  tall  pines.  As  the  coffin  passed  beneath  them, 

,  their  waving  tops  seemed  to  utter  a  plaintive  sigh. 

\  The  tread  of  the  long  procession  seemed  to  be  noise¬ 
less.  All  were  moving  on,  pensive  and  silent. 

I'  But  the  stillness  of  the  surrounding  scene  was 
I  now,  perhaps  to  many  who  were  then  present,  unex¬ 
pectedly,  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  these  words  : 
“  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord. 
He  that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet 
shall  he  live.  And  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth 
in  me,  shall  never  die.” 

There  was  something  in  these  words,  connected 
with  the  place  where  they  were  uttered,  that  seemed 
*  io  send  a  thrill  through  every  heart  in  the  proces¬ 
sion.  The  sound  of  these  words  died  away  on  the 
air,  and  then  we  moved  on  a  few  paces  in  silence. 

The  silence  was  soon  again  interrupted  by  this 
solemn  declaration  of  Job  :  “  I  know  that  my  Re¬ 

deemer  liveth,  and  that  he  shall  stand  at  the  latter 
day  upon  the  earth  :  and  though  after  my  skin,  worms 
destroy  this  body,  yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God, 
1  whom  I  shall  see  for  myself,  and  mine  eyes  shall 
I  behold,  and  not  another.” 

I  We  had  by  this  time  arrived  at  the  grave.  I  per- 
I  ceived  from  the  plain  stone  that  was  set  up  to  inform 
the  stranger  what  dust  mouldered  beneath  i^  that 
the  grave  of  Elizabeth  Mc’Ellen  was  dug  by  the  side 
of  her  husband’s.  No  delay  was  occasioned  by  open¬ 
ing  the  coffin.  The  descendants  of  the  deceased 
had  taken  their  last  look  of  their  mother  before  she 
I  was  brought  into  the  open  air ;  and  they  revolted  at 


54 


the  idea  of  exposing  her  corpse  at  the  grave,  to  the 
gaze  of  a  promiscuous  multitude.  This  custom,  even 
now  almost  universally  prevalent  in  the  country,  ap¬ 
pears  to  me  to  be  among  the  remains  of  barbarism, 
and  must  ever  shock  the  feelings  of  refined  sensibility. 

The  coffin  was  immediately  placed  upon  two 
spades,  which  were  laid  transversely  over  the  grave. 

The  mourners  gathered  around  ;  and  there  seemed 
much  in  the  following  sentences  that  were  rehearsed, 
to  compose  the  feelings,  and  prepare  the  minds  of 
all  for  the  scene  that  was  to  succeed  :  “  Man  that  is 
born  of  a  woman,  hath  but  a  short  time  to  live,  and  is 
full  of  misery.  He  cometh  up  and  is  cut  down  like 
a  flower.  He  fleeth  as  it  were  a  shadow,  and  never 
continueth  in  one  stay.” 

“  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death.  Of  whom 
may  we  seek  for  succour  but  of  thee,  O  Lord,  &lc.” 

When  these  sentences  had  been  rehearsed,  the 
coffin  was  let  down  into  the  grave.  The  eyes  of  all 
the  Mc’Ellen  family  were  dim  with  tears;  but  they 
followed  the  descending  coffin  down  to  its  deep  and 
dark  resting  place.  There  was  no  loud  wailing — no 
affected  grief — no  mockery  of  wo.  It  was  nature 
yearning  over  the  grave  of  one  that  was  tenderly 
loved. — Nature  bid  them  weep  :  but  their  eyes  glis¬ 
tened  with  hope,  even  while  they  were  filled  with 
tears.  They  looked  away  from  the  grave  up  to  that 
heavenly  country,  where  they  had  every  reason  to 
believe  the  soul  of  their  departed  mother  was  re¬ 
splendent,  as  a  star  in  the  firmament  of  Heaven. 

If  the  heart  of  one  spectator  remained  untouched 
by  the  solemnities  that  had  been  already  witnessed, 
surely  it  must  have  relented  when  the  spade  was 
thrust  into  the  earth,  and  the  solemn  act  of  interment 
pronounced 


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55 

M  Forasmuch  as  it  hath  pleased  Almighty  God,&c.” 
The  Rubric  that  is  placed  immediately  after  tha 
act  of  interment  in  the  burial  service,  directs  that 
the  passage  from  Revelations,  there  inserted,  shall  be 
)lllh  said  or  sung. 

The  worthy  old  man  who  walked  by  my  side  to  the 
grave,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  had  the  ordering  of  the 
funeral ;  and  he  had  made  arrangement  to  have  that 
passage  sung.  I  was  ignorant  of  this  arrangement. 
When,  therefore,  he  and  those  that  were  around  him 
struck  into  a  chant,  and  in  loud  thrilling  notes 
rehearsed  that  sublime  passage,  “  I  heard  a  voice  from 
Heaven,  saying  unto  me — Write,  from  henceforth 
fflr  I  blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in  the  Lord  :  even  so 
saith  the  Spirit,  for  they  rest  from  their  labours,”  I 
felt  almost  overpowered  by  the  unexpectedness  and 
fine  effect  of  the  performance. 

The  last  four  verses  of  the  12th  Hymn  were  then 
read  and  sung. 

There  was  something  truly  touching  in  this  scene. 
A  large  concourse  of  people  were  gathered  around 
the  remains  of  an  aged  and  deceased  Christian.  The 
coffin  had  been  let  down  into  the  grave,  and  they 
were  standing  over  it.  They  were  away  from  any  hu¬ 
man  habitation  but  the  habitation  of  the  dead.  Their 
heads  were  uncovered,  and  the  white  locks  of  many 
away-worn  pilgrim  showed  that  Elizabeth  Mc’Ellen- 
would  soon  be  followed  by  some  that  were  standing  in 
that  crowd.  They  were  now  in  the  act  of  praising  God. 

There  is  something  peculiarly  tender  in  the  strains 
of  vocal  music,  breathed  forth  in  the  open  air,  and 
among  the  graves  of  the  dead.  And  on  the  present 
occasion  a  gentle  gust  of  wind  every  now  and  then 
swept  by,  and  seemed  to  float  the  sweet  and  mellow 
voices  of  the  singers  up  to  heaven. 


SG 


4-S  soon  as  the  service  at  the  grave  was  completed, 
and  the  procession  began  to  march  back  in  the  same 
order  that  it  had  left  the  house,  my  aged  friend  again 
joined  me,  and  renewed  the  former  conversation. 

“  How  solemn,”  said  he,  “  is  this  service — It  al 
ways  affects  me  more  than  the  best  funeral  sermon. 
As  I  was  saying  to  you,  that  departed  saint ,  Eliza¬ 
beth  Md Ellen,  has  done  much  for  us.  She  was  a 
pattern  of  all  that  was  excellent. 

For  more  than  sixty  years  she  had  been  a  pious 
servant  of  God,  and  worthy  member  of  the  Church 
of  Christ.  But  she  placed  no  confidence  in  all  she 
had  done.  She  was  the  most  humble  woman  I  ever 
saw.  Often  have  I  heard  her  say,  that  every  year 
she  lived,  she  saw  more  and  more  need  of  a  Saviour 
Every  part  of  the  Prayer  Book  was  familiar  to  her, 
and  her  knowledge  of  the  evil  of  sin,  and  of  the 
proneness  of  human  nature  to  err,  made  her  often  turn 
to  dwell  upon  this  part  of  the  general  confession — • 
“  I  have  left  undone  those  things  which  I  ought  to 
have  done — and  I  have  done  those  things  which  I 
ought  not  to  have  done- — and  there  is  no  health  in  me.” 

In  the  latter  part  of  her  life,  she  spent  much  of 
her  time  in  prayer — and,  as  I  have  been  told  by  her 
son,  when  alone,  she  would  often  repeat  aloud  this 
petition  from  the  burial  service — 

“ 0  holy  and  merciful  Saviour,  thou  most  worthy 
Judge  eternal,  suffer  me  not,  at  my  last  hour,  for  any 
pains  of  death  to  fall  from  thee.” — Her  prayer  was 
granted  and  she  has  gone  home  to  glory. 

*  I  must  now  bring  this  narration  to  a  close — and  if  it 
has  been  drawn  out  so  as  to  be  tedious  to  any  of  my 
readers,  my  apology  must  be  found  in  the  interest 
I  have  felt  and  still  feel  in  this  Family  of  Md  Ellens. 

A  MISSIONARY. 


I  LOVE  thy  kingdom,  Lord, 

The  house  of  thine  abode, 

The  Church  our  blest  Redeemer  sav’d 
With  his  own  precious  blood, 

I  love  thy  Church,  O  God ! 

Her  walls  before  thee  stand, 

Dear  as  the  apple  of  thine  eye, 

And  graven  on  thy  hand. 

If  e’er  to  bless  thy  sons, 

My  voice  or  hands  deny, 

These  hands  let  useful  skill  forsake, 
This  voice  in  silence  die. 

If  e’er  my  heart  forget 
Her  welfare,  or  her  wo, 

Let  ev’ry  joy  this  heart  forsake, 

And  every  grief  o’erflow. 

For  her  my  tears  shall  fall; 

For  her  my  pray’rs  ascend ; 

To  her  my  cares  and  toils  be  giv’n, 
Till  toils  and  cares  shall  end. 

Beyond  my  highest  joy 
I  prize  her  heav’nly  ways, 

Her  sweet,  communion,  solemn  vows 
Her  hymns  of  love  and  praise. 

Jesus,  thou  Friend  divine. 

Our  Saviour  and  our  King, 

Thy  hand  from  every  snare  and  foe 
Shall  great  deliv’rance  bring. 

Sure  as  4hv  truth  shall  last, 

To  Zion  shall  be  giv’n 
The  brightest  glories  earth  can  yield 
And  brighter  bliss  of  heaven. 


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MEMOSCST’S 


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'KIBUTEi 


FIRST  SERIES. 


A  FAMILY  IS  ETERNITY 


GENERAL  PROTESTANT  EPISCOPAL  SUNDAY  SCHOOL  UNION  J 
Depository,  Press  Buildings,  No.  16  Lumber-Street, 
in  rear  of  Trinity  Church. 


Printed  at  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Press, 
No.  40  Lumber-Street. 


=dJ 


1330, 


<** 


c* 


They  are  now  9.  Family  in  Eternity.” — Page  44. 


MEMORY’S  TRIBUTE 


OR 

THINGS  PROFITABLE  FOR  REFLECTION. 


FIRST  SERIES. 

A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

“  THE  Ml  ELLEN  FAMILY” 


GENERAL  PROTESTANT  EPISCOPAL  SUNDAY  SCHOOL  ONION  J 
Depository,  Press  Buildings,  No.  40  Lumber-Street, 
in  rear  of  Trinity  Church. 

Printed  at  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Press, 

No.  40  Lumber-Street. 


1830. 


- 

■ 

. 


' 


*■' 


» 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY 


CHAP.  I. 

“  Like  crowded  forest  trees  we  stand, 

And  some  are  mark’d  to  fall ; 

The  axe  will  smite  at  God’s  command, 

And  soon  shall  smite  us  all. 

Green  as  the  bay-tree,  ever  green, 

With  its  new  foliage  on, 

The  gay.  the  thoughtless,  have  I  seen, 

I  pass’d — and  they  were  gone. 

Read  ye  that  run,  the  awful  truth 
With  which  I  charge  my  page, 

A  worm  is  in  the  bud  of  youth, 

And  at  the  root  of  age. — Cowper. 

On  a  recent  tour  through  one  of  the  Northern  States, 
I  stopped  at  a  village  situated  on  a  creek,  which  afforded 
numerous  and  extensive  advantages  and  facilities  for 
manufacturing  purposes. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  immediately  surrounding 
country,  it  being  rough  and  broken — nor  in  the  place 
itself,  convenience  and  economy,  rather  than  taste  or 
elegance,  having  been  studied  in  the  construction  of  its 
buildings — particularly  calculated  to  arrest  the  attention 
of  the  traveller,  or  inspire  him  with  a  wish  to  linger  in 
its  neighbourhood.  But  I  had  spent  several  years  of  my 
childhood  in  this  place,  and  the  sight  of  the  village  as  I 
approached  it,  awakened  feelings  oLa  peculiar  character, 
and  essentially  different  from  those  which  would  have 
been  awakened  in  the  bosom  of  a  stranger. 

Many  years  had  elapsed  since  my  last  visit  to  this 
place.  Its  general  aspect  had  undergone  very  little 
1* 


42 


memory’s  tribute. 

change,  but  I  soon  perceived  that  its  inhabitants  were  to 
me  an  almost  entire  new  race  of  beings. 

Having  stopped  at  one  of  the  public  inns,  I  immedi¬ 
ately  went  to  visit  several  spots  which  were  once  fami¬ 
liar  to  me,  and  with  which  were  associated  the  fond  re- 
memberance  of  scenes  for  ever  past.  As  I  leisurely 
strolled  through  the  village,  I  could  see  no  names  on  the 
signs,  and  but  few  faces  in  the  street,  that  I  had  ever  before 
known.  To  all  whom  I  met,  I  was  a  stranger  ;  no  one 
recognized  me.  It  at  length  occurred  me,  that  there  was 
one  habitation  where  I  should  probably  find  a  number 
of  my  old  acquaintances — “  the  house  appointed  for  all 
living.”  Thither,  therefore,  I  directed  my  steps. 

I  have  often  thought  it  a  fit  and  becoming  expres 
sion  of  our  regard  for  our  deceased  friends,  to  see  that 
the  place  of  their  interment  is  guarded  from  the  profane 
intrusion  of  the  thoughtless,  and  the  unhallowed  tread  of 
brute  beasts.  Great  attention  had  been  paid  to  this  by 
the  former  inhabitants  of  this  village.  The  burial  ground 
was  a  short  distance  from  the  village,  in  a  secluded  and 
rural  spot.  It  was  in  the  form  of  an  oblong  square,  and 
protected  by  a  strong  enclosure.  On  each  side  of  the 
square,  various  kinds  of  trees  were  planted,  and  especial¬ 
ly  those  which  long  custom  has  established,  are  pecu¬ 
liarly  appropriate  to  shade  the  ashes  of  the  departed. 
The  avenue  which  led  from  the  high-way  to  this  resting 
place  of  the  dead  was  studded  on  either  side  with  a  row 
of  weeping  willows,  which  hung  their  drooping  branches 
so  mournfully  over  the  head  of  him  who  passed  beneath, 
that  no  one  could  reach  the  place  of  interment  without 
feeling  that  he  was  treading  on  holy  ground. 

As  I  walked  up  this  avenue  and  entered  that  sacred 
area  where,  in  former  years,  I  had  so  often  heard  the 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


43 


solemn  notes  of  “  earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to 
dust,”  floating  upon  the  air ;  and  where  I  had  beheld 
weeping  mourners  gather  in  silence  around  the  newly 
excavated  grave,  to  see  the  last  remains  of  some  dear 
friend  let  down  into  its  dark  and  solitary  abode,  I 
could  not  but  stop,  and  gaze  in  pensive  meditation  upon 
the  u  heaped  hillocks”  of  earth  that  lay  thick  around  me. 
“  How  populous,”  thought  I,  “  this  1  subterranean  city !’ 
How  sure  its  annual  increase  of  inhabitants.  Notwith¬ 
standing  the  living  seek  through  monumental  stones  to 
keep  up  and  perpetuate  the  distinctions  which  existed 
in  life,  yet  in  truth  and  reality,  how  are  they  all  lost  in 
the  grave !  The  beggar  and  the  rich  man  lie  equally  low, 
and  the  worm  feeds  alike  sweetly  upon  them.  The 
several  paths  of  that  busy  multitude  that  are  moving  in 
so  many  directions  through  yonder  streets,  will  all  ter 
minate  here.  Oh,  if  this  thought  could  be  ever  fresh  in 
their  minds,  how  would  it  abate  the  ardour  with  which 
they  pursue  the  perishing  vanities  of  time  !  How  would 
it  dissipate  worldly  mindedness,  moderate  the  love  of 
pleasure,  and  make  sensuality  itself  tremble  amid  its 
guilty  indulgencies !” 

As  I  passed  along  from  grave  to  grave,  the  names  that 
X  read  upon  the  stones  called  up  the  images  of  a  numer¬ 
ous  group  that  X  had  once  known.  Having  at  length 
reached  a  distant  corner  of  the  burial  ground,  I  read  on 
four  stones  that  were  ranged  close  to  each  other. 

u  Frederick  Lindsley ,  Esq.,  who  departed  this  life 
in  the  43 d  year  of  his  age.” 

“  Mary ,  relict  of  Frederick  Lindsley ,  Esq.,  who 
c  fell  asleep  in  ChrisV  in  the  37 th  year  of  her  age.” 

“  Hezekiah ,  son  of  Frederick  and  Mary  Lindsley , 
who  died '  in  the  8th  year  of  his  age.” 


44  memory’s  tribute. 

“  Mary  Anna  Lindsley ,  who  died  in  May,  tyc.  in  the  !  l( 
18 th  year  of  her  age — much  beloved  in  life,  lament -  ’  " 
cd  in  death ;  her  memory  will  be  long  cherished  on 
earth — her  many  excellencies  can  be  fully  known 
only  in  Heaven .” 

“  Ah,”  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  read  these  names  with  a  1 
throbbing  heart,  “  then  they  are  all  gone — they  are  now 
A  Family  in  Eternity — I  shall  meet  them  no  more 
till  I  meet  them  there.” 

I  had  known  this  family  intimately,  and  spent  many 
happy  hours  in  their  society.  Their  history  was  one 
truly  eventful;  replete  with  reverses,  and  furnishing 
many  instructive  lessons  to  those  who  ponder  the  ways 
of  God  and  consider  the  operation  of  his  hands. 

Mr.  Lindsley  was  a  lawyer,  and  had,  at  an  early  age, 
acquired  not  only  eminence  in  his  profession,  but  in  a 
distinguished  degree  the  confidence  of  the  community  in 
which  he  resided.  This  confidence  had  been  inspired, 
not  only  by  his  accurate  and  extensive  legal  knowledge, 
but  by  great  integrity  of  character  and  uprightness  of 
conduct. 

He  was  particularly  blessed  and  happy  in  his  family. 
Mrs.  Lindsley,  the  partner  of  his  bosom,  added  to  po¬ 
lished  manners  and  a  well  balanced  mind,  great  amiabi¬ 
lity  and  sweetness  of  temper.  She  was  the  mother  of 
two  interesting  children.  The  oldest,  was  a  daughter, 
who,  at  the  time  that  our  narrative  commences,  was 
about  twelve  years  of  age.  Mary  Anna  bore  an  exact 
resemblance  to  her  mother  in  all  the  delicate  touches 
and  interesting  features  of  her  character. 

Mr.  Lindsley,  among  his  many  other  excellencies, 
was  distinguished  for  his  kindness  and  great  hospitality. 

In  him  the  poor  and  the  fatherless  found  a  friend,  “  the 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


45 


tk 

M- 

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blessing  of  him  that  was  ready  to  perish  came  upon 
him,”  and  often  he  “  caused  the  widow’s  heart  to  sing 
for  joy.” 

His  wife  and  children  he  almost  idolized.  Where 
their  comfort  or  happiness  was  concerned,  he  spared 
no  expense,  shrunk  from  no  sacrifices.  His  home  was 
a  little  paradise,  where  all  hearts  seemed  bound  together 
by  the  rosied  wreath  of  love.  All  who  visited  his  house 
went  away  with  the  full  impression,  that  if  there  was 
a  happy  family  on  earth,  it  was  Mr.  Lindsley’s. 

This  family,  however,  had  not  yet  obtained  the  pearl 
of  great  price.  They  were  constant  in  their  attendance 
upon  public  worship ;  and  an  event  about  this  time  oc- 
|  curred  which  awakened  in  their  minds  new  sensibility 
I  in  relation  to  the  subject  of  religion. 


— — 

CHAP.  II. 


“  Afflictions  from  above, 

Are  angels  sent 

On  embassies  of  love.” — Merry. 

The  unnumbered  blessings  which  a  kind  Providence 
spreads  around  us,  and  the  manifold  tokens  of  divine 
regard  which  we  daily  receive,  were,  one  would  think, 
sufficient  to  melt  our  hearts  into  gratitude,  and  win  us 
to  the  service  of  God.  But  long  experience  has  shown, 
that  men  are  usually  never  more  unmindful  of  their 
Creator  than  when  they  are  feasting  upon  his  richest 
bounties,  and  their  sky  is  irradiated  by  the  brightest  rays 
of  his  mercy.  Affliction,  with  dark  and  terrific  form, 
must  cross  our  path,  blighting  the  fondest  hopes,  and 
desolating  the  fairest  prospects,  before  we  can  be  re- 


40 


MEMORY’S  'IlwBUTE. 

called  to  a  sense  of  our  duty.  And  happy  is  it,  il  the 
blighting  of  earthly  hopes,  and  the  bitter  pangs  of 
earthly  bereavement  lead  us  to  fly  to  the  bosom  of  God, 1 
and  to  seek  shelter  beneath  the  outspread  wings  of  cove- ' 
n anted  mercy. 

The  voice  of  sorrow  and  mourning  was  now  heard  in 
the  dwelling  of  Mr.  Lindsley.  His  only  son,  a  lad  about 1 
eight  years  old,  had  fallen  from  a  neighbouring  hay- ! 
loft  and  was  taken  up  dead.  Mr.  Lindsley  was  ab¬ 
sent  on  business  when  this  melancholy  event  occurred. 
As  soon  as  the  intelligence  reached  him  he  instantly 
hastened  home.  Never  shall  I  forget  his  expression  and 
attitude  as  he  entered  the  room  and  approached  the 
corpse  of  his  child.  His  hands  were  clenched — every 
feature  of  his  countenance  was  wrought  up  into  an  ex¬ 
pression  of  agony — and  his  whole  frame  shook  with 
emotion.  He  stood  and  gazed  for  a  moment  upon  the 
sweet  and  motionless  face  of  his  boy — and  then,  as  if 
lie  could  no  longer  restrain  himself,  rushed  from  the 
room  to  give  vent  in  private  to  his  feelings. 

After  the  funeral  had  past,  and  the  first  excess  of  grief 
had  subsided,  this  family  were  visited  by  the  minister  of 
the  place,  and  kindly  but  faithfully  reminded,  that  the 
bereavement  which  they  had  sustained  was  a  solemn 
admonition  from  God,  urging  them  to  enter  upon  the 
business  of  their  everlasting  salvation.  His  words  were 
listened  to  with  seriousness  and  attention. 

A  change,  from  this  time,  was  discoverable  in  both 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lindsley.  The  spirit  of  God  seemed  to 
have  touched  their  hearts. 

I  know  not  whether  Mrs.  Lindsley  was  more  deeply 
impressed  than  her  husband,  but  she  certainly  cherish¬ 
ed  more  sacredly  her  serious  impressions,  and  resolved 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


47 


at  an  earlier  period  to  make  a  complete  surrender  of  her- 
I  self  to  her  Saviour.  She  had  not  been  baptized  in  in¬ 
fancy,  and  she  very  justly  thought  that  the  way  of  obe¬ 
dience  was  the  way  of  her  duty.  She  therefore  deter- 
1  mined,  in  obedience  to  the  divine  injunction  of  that  Sa¬ 
viour  to  whose  free  and  unmerited  grace  alone  she 
looked  for  mercy,  to  make  a  surrender  of  herself  to  Him 
in  the  holy  sacrament  of  baptism. 

Having  come  to  this  determination,  she  sought  a  fit 
opportunity  to  communicate  her  intention  to  Mr.  Linds- 
ley.  About  three  months  had  now  elapsed  since  the 
death  of  their  son.  Mrs.  Lindsley  and  her  daughter 
were  one  day  sitting  together  alone,  when  Mr.  Lindsley 
came  in  and  sat  for  awhile  silent  and  apparently  in  deep 
thought. 

I  “  I  have  been  thinking,”  at  length  said  Mrs.  L.,  ad¬ 
dressing  hcTself  to  her  husband,  “  I  have  been  thinking 
for  some  days  to  speak  to  you  upon  a  subject  that  lies 
very  near  my  heart.  In  the  death  of  our  boy  we  have 
had  a  most  striking  proof  of  the  emptiness  and  instabili¬ 
ty  of  all  that  this  earth  can  give.  I  feel  that  I  have  need 
of  a  divine  comforter.  I  wish  to  seek  him  in  the  way 
of  his  appointment.  I  wish  to  cast  myself  at  the  feet  of 
Jesus,  and  ask  him  to  wash  me  in  •  the  fountain  that  has 
been  opened  for  sin  and  uncleanness.’  I  wish  to  be 
baptized.” 

Mr.  L.  was  deeply  affected  by  these  remarks.  The 
veins  in  his  forehead  became  distended,  and  upon 
every  feature  were  visible  the  workings  of  a  troubled 
soul.  The  tear  glistened  in  his  eye,  and  his  lips  quiver¬ 
ed  with  emotion.  For  some  time  he  could  not  speak. 
At  length  he  said, 

“  Wait,  my  dear,  a  few  weeks,  and  perhaps  l  shall 


48 


memory’s  tribute. 


feel  authorised  to  accompany  you  to  the  baptismal  font,  j 0 
for  I  have  never  been  baptized.”  He  could  say  no  more,  i 1 
He  arose  and  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Lindsley  followed  with  her  eye  the  retiring  steps  ' 
of  her  husband,  offering  up  to  the  Divine  Being  a  secret  1 
petition  that  the  Holy  Spirit  might  accompany  him  1 
wherever  he  went,  revealing  to  him  his  character  as  a  i 
sinner,  and  constraining  him  to  fly  to  the  foot  of  the  J 
cross  for  mercy  and  life.  When  she  turned  her  eyes 
towards  Mary  Anna,  whose  presence  she  had  entirely 
forgotten  in  the  deeply  absorbing  train  of  reflection  that 
had  been  passing  through  her  mind,  she  saw  her  bathed 
in  tears.  Her  first  thought  was,  that  this  gush  of  sen¬ 
sibility  had  been  called  forth  by  the  deep  feeling  she  had 
just  witnessed  in  her  parents.  Mrs.  L.  therefore,  did  not 
think  fit  to  intimate  by  any  remark  that  she  noticed  this 
burst  of  tenderness  in  her  daughter. 

After  a  little  interval  Mary  Anna  was  the  first  to  in¬ 
terrupt  silence,  by  the  following  innocent,  artless,  and 
affecting  train  of  remarks ;  and  as  she  spoke,  the  tears 
were  still  glistening  in  her  eyes. 

“  Mother,  I  hope,  dear  father  will  become  pious  and 
be  baptized.  For  I  was  reading  this  morning  in  the 
Gospel  of  St.  John,  and  it  has  been  sounding  in  my  ears 
ever  since,  £  he  that  believeth  and  is  baptized  shall  be  ( 
saved,  but  he  that  believeth  not  shall  be  damned.’  I 
hope  father  will  be  saved,  don’t  you  mother?” 

“  Child,”  said  her  mother,  her  heart  ready  to  burst 
with  emotion,  “  it  is  highly  proper  that  you  should  feel 
a  tender  and  affectionate  solicitude  in  reference  to  the  1 
eternal  salvation  of  your  dear  father,  but  of  vastly  greater 
importance  that  you  should  feel  an  anxiety  about  your 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY.  49 

own  everlasting  condition,  and  learn  to  1  remember  your 
Creator  in  the  days  of  your  youth.’  ” 

“  Dear  mother,”  said  Mary  Anna,  “  how  long  I  have 
wished  to  talk  with  you  on  this  subject.  I  have  been 
thinking  all  day  what  an  awful  thing  it  would  be,  to  be 
damned — to  be  shut  out  forever  from  Heaven,  and  cast 
down  to  that  place  where,,  the  Bible  says,  ‘  the  worm 
dieth  not  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched and  I  sometimes 
fear,  that  I  shall  be  shut  up  there,  for  I  am  such  a 
sinner  /” 

u  How  long  since  you  have  had  these  feelings  and  re¬ 
flections  ?”  inquired  her  mother. 

“  Ever  since  1  can  remember,”  said  she,  “  at  times. 
But  these  thoughts  have  dwelt  continually  in  my  mind 
since  last  spring.  I  went  out  one  day  to  gather  wild 
flowers.  As  I  was  wandering  around,  all  at  once  it  oc¬ 
curred  to  me,  how  beautiful  and  lovely  are  the  works  of 
God!  The  trees  had  just  put  on  their  new  foliage — the 
meadows  and  pastures  wrere  covered  with  fresh  verdure — 
the  violets  bloomed  all  around — the  blossoms  hung  upon 
the  peach  trees — every  breath  of  air  seemed  full  of  fra¬ 
grance — the  sun  shone  with  all  its  splendour  and  bright¬ 
ness  over  every  field  and  seemed  to  tip  every  flower  with 
new  tints  of  beauty— a  thousand  little  insects  were  buz- 
ziug  and  dancing  through  the  air — the  birds  were  sing¬ 
ing  sweetly  from  every  bush  and  bramble — the  lambs  were 
skipping  over  the  hills,  or  chasing  in  little  troops  through 
the  plain — all  seemed  joyous,  and  thankful,  and  glad. 
A  voice  seemed  to  whisper  in  my  ear,  c  Shall  all  these 
praise  God  and  you  forget  him?5  Oh,  how  my  heart  then 
sunk  within  me.  1  sat  down  and  wept.  I  tried  to  pray — 
to  bless  God  ;  but  then  I  felt  that  I  was  so  great  a  sinner 
— I  had  forgotten  God  so  long,  and  loved  him  so  little — 


50 


memory’s  tribute. 

that  1  could  not  pray.  It  seemed  as  if  he  frowned  upon 
me  with  a  look  of  wrath.  I  came  home  sorrowful.  I 
kept  thinking  for  many  weeks  about  this,  and  when 
Hezekiah  died  I  felt  as  though  God  designed  his  death  as 
a  warning  to  me  ;  and  there  has  not  been  a  day  from  that 
time  to  this,  that  I  have  not  thought  about  dy  in  g— and  when 
I  have  been  alone  and  thought  over  all  the  wrong  things 
I  have  done,  I  have  often  felt  as  though  there  was  no 
hope  for  me.  But  the  other  day  I  was  reading  in  my 
Bible  this  passage,  ‘  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labour 
and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.’  I  had 
just  before  been  thinking,  what  an  c  intolerable  burthen’ 
my  sins  were ;  and  the  thought  occurred  to  me,  ami 
not  one  of  those  who  are  £  labouring  and  heavy  laden?’ 
Am  I  not  one  of  those  to  whom  the  Saviour  here  says  ? 
‘  I  will  give  you  rest.’  I  could  not  but  rejoice.  It  seem¬ 
ed  as  if  I  had  all  at  once  found  Him  that  would  save  me  ; 
and  ever  since  then,  I  take  delight  in  nothing  so  much 
as  in  reading  about  Christ.  Mother,  do  you  not  think 
that  Christ  will  have  mercy  upon  me  ?  May  I  not  then 
also  be  baptized  ?” 

This  guileless,  unsophisticated,  and  almost  infantile 
discourse  of  Mary  Anna  quite  overcame  the  feelings  of 
her  mother.  Her  heart  was  too  full  for  utterance.  Em¬ 
bracing  her  daughter,  she  bathed  herself  and  her  child 
in  tears  of  tenderness  and  joy. 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


51 


CHAP.  III. 

M  Soldiers  of  Christ,  arise 
And  put  your  armour  on. 

*  *  *  * 

Who  in  the  strength  of  Jesus  trusts, 

Is  more  than  conqueror. 

Stand  then  in  his  great  might, 

With  all  his  strength  endued, 

I  And  take,  to  arm  you  for  the  fight, 

The  panoply  of  God.” 

vV hen  it  is  recollected  that  Baptism  is  the  sign  and  seal 
of  the  Christian  covenant — a  covenant  entered  into  be- 
.  tween  creatures  whose  breath  is  in  their  nostrils,  and  that 
||  Omnipotent  Being  who  “  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting” 
£  — that  all  his  mercies  are  covenanted  mercies — that  the 
F  very  idea  of  a  covenant  implies  the  greatest  condescen¬ 
sion  on  his  part,  inasmuch  as  he  thereby  binds  himselt 
by  a  promise,  assuring  those  that  love  and  fear  him  that 
though  “  the  mountains  depart  and  the  hills  be  removed, 
his  kindness  shall  ’never  depart  from  them,  nor  the  cove¬ 
nant  of  his  peace  be  removed” — when  these  several 
particulars  are  recollected,  it  is  truly  astonishing,  that, 
on  the  one  hand  any  who  have  not  repented  of  their 
sins,  who  have  not  resolved  to  turn  from  every  evil  way, 
and  devote  themselves,  soul  and  body,  to  the  service  of 
God,  should  presume  to  approach  the  baptismal  font,  or 
seek  to  be  washed  in  the  mystical  waters  of  baptism,  as 
though  “  the  putting  away  of  the  filth  of  the  flesh,”  not 
“  the  answer  of  a  good  conscience  toward  God,”  would 
make  them  clean  in  his  sight ;  and  on  the  other  hand, 
that  any  who  desire  pardon  and  mercy,  who  are  seeking 
renovation  of  heart,  and  some  special  token  of  God’s 
loving  kindness,  should  think  lightly  of  this  blessed  sa- 


52 


MEMORY'S  TRIBUTE. 


crament,  instituted  on  purpose  to  initiate  them  into  the 
family  of  the  Most  High. 

Mr.  Lindsley,  for  a  number  of  weeks  after  the  conver¬ 
sation  related  in  the  last  chapter,  appeared  very  thought¬ 
ful  and  serious.  He  assembled  his  family  night  and 
morning,  and  read  to  them  some  affecting  portion  of 
scripture.  He  was  evidently  under  deep  convictions  of 
sin,  and  “  almost  persuaded  to  be  a  Christian.” 

Mrs.  Lindsley  was  cheering  herself  from  day  to  day 
with  the  hope  that  the  time  was  not  far  distant,  when 
herself,  her  husband,  and  their  only  child,  would  stand 
before  the  baptismal  font  to  enter  into  an  everlasting 
covenant  with  Jehovah.  She  did  not,  however,  think 
it  expedient  to  mention  the  subject  again  to  her  husband, 
presuming  that  when  his  mind  was  in  a  fit  state  he 
would  himself  propose  it. 

Mr.  Lindsley  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  truth  of  the 
Christian  religion,  and  in  its  vital  and  practical  influ¬ 
ence  upon  the  heart  and  life.  He  could  not  have  borne 
the  idea  of  dying  without  its  consolations.  He  meant  to 
save  his  soul.  But  still  he  did  not  now  feel  ready  to 
obey  the  call  of  Christ,  to  give  up  all  and  follow  him. 
He  stood  so  connected  with  men  of  business,  and  by  his 
professional  duties  was  so  frequently  brought  in  contact 
with  the  world,  that  he  feared  he  could  not  sustain  the 
Christian  character  consistently.  Such  were  the  evil 
suggestions  of  a  heart  that  still  clung  to  the  world. 
Though  in  most  points,  a  man  of  great  decision  and 
fearlessness,  Mr.  Lindsley  shrunk  from  the  imputation 
of  devoted  jpieiy. 

He  soon  began  to  resist  the  strivings  of  God’s  spirit 
He  secretly  tried  a  thousand  expedients  to  extract  the 
arrows  of  conviction  from  his  soul.  lie  sought  to  ba- 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY.  53 

lie  nish  his  serious  reflections  by  becoming  immersed  in 
professional  engagements,  and  at  length  his  seriousness 
t-  began  gradually  to  wear  off. 

Mrs.  L.  observed  this  with  alarm.  It  was  Sunday 
(1  morning.  She  had  been  long  hoping,  as  the  morn  of  that 
if  sacred  day  week  after  week  returned,  that  he  would  an- 
f  nounce  to  her  his  desire  to  approach  the  baptismal  font. 
But  she  had  waited  in  vain.  She  determined  to  wait  no 
longer.  She  therefore  renewed  the  conversation  on  the 
j  subject  of  their  receiving  this  holy  ordinance. 

Mr.  L.  at  first  seemed  averse  to  speaking  upon 
the  subject.  Mary  Anna  was  present  and  ventured  to 
make  a  remark.  “  Do,  my  dear  father,”  said  she,  “  go 
with  us  and  be  baptized.” 

The  sensibility  of  the  father  was  touched  by  the  soli¬ 
citude  of  his  child,  and  he  thus  replied : 

“  I  do  not  think  that  my  feelings  or  character  will 
warrant  so  solemn  a  profession  on  my  part,  as  I  must 
necessarily  make  in  receiving  baptism.  But  do  not  wait 
for  me.  Next  to  being  admitted  myself  into  the  fold  of 
Christ’s  flock,  nothing  can  give  me  so  much  pleasure  as 
to  know  that  my  wife  and  child  are  numbered  among 
the  children  of  God.  Appoint  next  Sunday  for  the 
time  of  receiving  that  holy  ordinance,  and  perhaps” — a 
tear  started  from  his  eye  as  he  spoke — “  perhaps  I  shall 
then  think  differently.” 

The  rubric  that  precedes  the  baptismal  service,  re¬ 
quires  that  in  all  cases  where  adult  persons  are  to  re¬ 
ceive  baptism,  “  timely  notice  shall  be  given  to  the  mi¬ 
nister,  that  so  due  care  may  be  taken  for  their  ex¬ 
amination  ,”  to  ascertain  whether  they  possess  the  pro¬ 
per  qualifications.  In  conformity  to  this  standing  rule, 
the  intention  of  Mrs.  Lindsley  and  her  daughter  was 
5* 


54 


memory’s  tribute. 


signified  to  the  clergyman  to  whose  congregation  they 
were  attached,  with  a  request  that  he  would  call  and 
allow  them  to  converse  with  him  on  the  subject.  The 
request  was  most  cheerfully  complied  with,  and  the 
evidence  they  gave  that  they  were  truly  under  the  in¬ 
fluence  of  divine  grace,  was  every  way  satisfactory. 

A  part  of  the  conversation  that  passed  between  the 
clergyman  and  Mary  Anna  was  as  follows  : 

“  I  am  rejoiced,”  said  he,  “  to  see  one  so  young,  re¬ 
solving  to  devote  herself  to  the  service  of  her  heavenly 
father.” 

£<  I  fear,”  was  her  judicious  reply,  “  1  fear  I  am  not 
too  young  to  be  lost  if  I  should  die  without  a  Saviour.” 

“  Very  true,”  replied  the  minister.  “  But  have  you  duly 
considered  the  responsibility  that  you  take  upon  you 
by  this  act?  There  are  many  pleasures  and  gayeties, 
styled  in  the  catechism  ‘  the  vanities  of  the  world,’  to 
which  young  people  are  usually  devoted  ;  these,  by  your 
baptismal  vow,  must  be  forever  renounced.  That  vow 
binds  you  to  all  the  duties  and  high  responsibilities  of  a 
Christian.  It  was  customary  in  the  primitive  Church  for 
persons,  immediately  upon  receiving  baptism  to  be  pre¬ 
sented  with  a  white  robe,  which  they  were  10  wear  for 
a  number  of  days  in  token  of  the  purity  ot  life,  which, 
by  profession,  they  were  bound  to  exhibit.  Remember, 
my  young  friend,  that  you  are  about  to  put  on  a  robe 
that  will  be  soiled  by  every  contact  with  the  world.” 

“  The  pleasures  of  the  world,”  said  Mary  Anna,  “  I 
can  renounce  without  regret ;  but  I  am  sensible  of  my 
own  weakness.  To  keep  that  white  robe  unstained,  is,  I 
am  persuaded,  utterly  beyond  my  power.  But  may  I 
not  hope,  that  if  I  unite  myself  to  Christ  in  the  way  of 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY.  55 


py 

ie 

)e 

i- 


liis  appointment,  he  will  give  me  strength  to  do  what 
I  could  not  do  alone.” 

“  Yes,  you  may” — said  the  minister.  “  For  St.  Paul  de¬ 
clares  that  he  had  no  sufficiency  in  himself,  but  yet  look¬ 
ing  unto  the  Saviour,  he  says,  c  I  can  do  all  things 
through  Christ,  which  strengthenetli  me.’  ” 

It  was  hoped  by  Mrs.  Lindsley  that  her  husband 
would  have  been  present  at  this  interview.  But  he 
evidently  sought  to  avoid  it,  and  was  accordingly  absent 
at  the  time. 

The  next  Sunday  arrived.  The  afternoon  had  been 
appointed  as  the  time  of  receiving  that  long  anticipated 
rite,  which  was  to  engraft  Mrs.  Lindsley  and  her  daugh¬ 
ter  into  the  visible  body  of  Christ.  But  when  she  rose 
from  her  seat  to  go  forward  to  receive  that  holy  rite,  her 
frame  trembled,  her  step  was  unsteady,  a  death  like  pale¬ 
ness  sat  upon  her  countenance,  and  her  heart  was  weighed 
down  with  sorrow.  It  was  not  that  she  went  reluctantly 
to  dedicate  herself  to  the  service  of  her  Saviour,  but  that 
she  went  unaccompanied  by  him  whose  happiness  was 
her  own — that  she  went  thus  wrapped  in  a  cloud.  The 
thought  at  that  moment  crossed  her  mind  that  they 
might  finally  and  everlastingly  be  separated.  It  was 
that  dreadful  and  agonizing  thought  that  shook  her 
frame  with  trembling,  rendered  her  step  unsteady, 
spread  paleness  over  her  features,  and  pressed  her  down 
with  a  load  of  sorrow. 

When  Mrs.  Lindsley  and  her  daughter  came  forward 
and  stood  before  the  chancel,  many  eyes  in  the  congre¬ 
gation  were  turned  towards  Mr.  Lindsley’s  pew ;  a  dis¬ 
appointment  being  evidently  felt,  in  not  seeing  him  by 
the  side  of  his  wife  and  daughter — but  his  pew  was 


56 


M  E  M  O  R  V '«  T  R 1 B U  T  E . 


empty.  This  was  strange,  as  lie  was  seldom  abscn* 
from  church. 

The  ceremony  proceeded.  The  meek,  humble,  and 
subdued  appearance  of  the  mother  and  her  daughter — the 
tender,  affecting  and  solemn  language  of  the  service, 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  the  congregation.  The 
ordinance,  as  there  is  every  reason  to  believe,  was  made 
the  channel  of  rich  consolation  and  much  spiritual 
strength  to  the  recipients  themselves. 

We  are  now  coming  to  a  period  in  their  history,  when 
the  reality  of  their  principles  was  to  be  put  to  the  test, 
and  all  the  sustaining  influence  of  divine  grace,  of  which 
they  were  partakers,  was  needed  to  uphold  them. 

— 

’  '  :  Hi  ,»«r  4 

CHAP.  IV. 

“  And  as  they  did  not  like  to  retain  God  in  their  knowledge,  God  gave 

them  over  to  a  reprobate  mind.” — Epistle  to  the  Romans. 

About  four  years  had  now  elapsed  since  the  occur¬ 
rence  of  the  events  related  in  the  last  chapter.  And  in 
reference  to  those  sweet  scenes  of  domestic  happiness, 
which  formerly  gladdened  the  dwelling  of  Mr.  Lindsley, 
it  might  well  be  said  “  how  is  the  gold  become  dim  ! 
how  is  the  most  fine  gold  changed  !” 

From  the  Sunday  that  his  wife  and  daughter  received 
baptism,  his  views  and  feelings  seemed  totally  changed. 
The  effort  which  he  made  to  withstand  the  strong 
wrestlings  of  the  Spirit,  that  then  urged  him  to  a  sur¬ 
render  of  himself  to  the  service  of  his  Saviour,  seemed 
to  burst  at  once  from  around  him  all  those  bands  of  re¬ 
ligion  which  parental  instruction  had  at  first  imposed,  and 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


57 


which  the  belief  of  years  had  been  strengthening.  His. 
respect  for  divine  things  was  evidently  diminished.  His 
trouble  of  soul  was  gone.  He  entered  upon  the  theatre, 
and  took  an  active  part  in  the  scenes,  of  political  life. 
In  the  contest  and  collisions  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
and  the  measures  which  he  thought  necessary  to  adopt  to 
carry  his  plans,  he  began  to  contract  habits  of  dissipa¬ 
tion.  His  business  was  neglected.  A  frown,  which  never 
before  had  darkened  the  sunshine  of  his  home,  was  now 
frequently  seen  on  his  brow  in  the  midst  of  his  family. 
Things  continued  to  wax  worse  and  worse,  and  at  the 
time  to  which  our  narrative  now  refers,  Mr.  Lindslev 
seemed  to  have  reached  a  point  in  the  road  of  iniquity, 
from  which  their  was  little  prospect  of  return.  His  once 
^  manly  and  intelligent  countenance  now  bore  the  red  and 
bloated  aspect  of  intemperance.  His  business  had  left 
him.  The  most  of  his  property  was  gone.  He  spent 
the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  idleness — lounging  in 
bar-rooms,  and  making  merry  with  a  set  of  companions, 
who,  like  himself,  had  made  shipwreck  of  their  charac¬ 
ter  and  fortune. 

He  no  longer  visited  the  sanctuary  of  God.  The 
truths  that  he  there  heard  troubled  him.  He  no  longer 
read  the  Bible,  for  condemnation  flashed  upon  him  from 
its  every  page. 

At  this  time  there  was  in  this  village  an  organized 
club  of  sceptics,  who  styled  their  body  “  The  Church 
of  Reason.”  This  club  was  made  up  of  the  most  profane 
and  profligate  in  the  community — of  persons  of  the  most 
abandoned  lives.  One  common  feeling  had  drawn  them 
together — a  desire  to  And  in  infidelity,  or  atheism,  or  in 
some  other  “  refuge  of  lies,”  a  system  of  belief  that 
would  allow  them  to  remain  at  case  in  the  gratification 


58  memory’s  tribute. 

of;  their  lusts,  and  in  the  indulgence  of  their  favorite1 
sins. 

Such  was  this  “  Church  of  Reason.”  They  conven¬ 
ed  regularly  on  the  Lord’s  day.  Their  chief  business 
was  to  drink  to  intoxication,  to  sing  songs,  to  ridicule 
the  scriptures,  and  defame  religion.  With  this  chib 
Mr.  Lindsley  connected  himself,  and  in  time  became  its 
leader  and  head. 

He  was  no  longer  the  kind  and  affectionate  husband. 
An  utter  depravation  of  moral  sentiment  seemed  to  have 
been  wrought  in  him.  In  all  those  points  in  which  his 
character  formerly  appeared  most  amiable,  there  was 
now  exhibited  the  most  appalling  features  of  fiend-like 
depravity.  That  wife  whom  he  had  cherished  with  so  ! 
much  tenderness  and  love  ;  that  daughter  whom  he  had 
nurtured  with  so  much  parental  care  and  kindness — lie 
now  seemed  perfectly  to  hate.  He  took  every  occasion 
to  wound  and  mortify  their  feelings  in  the  presence  of 
company,  by  uttering  the  grossest  indelicacies  and  the 
most  Heaven  daring  profanity.  He  employed  every  art 
and  expedient  that  malevolence  could  devise,  to  thwart 
and  disturb  them  in  their  religious  enjoyments.  He 
sought  every  opportunity  to  denounce  in  their  hearing, 
the  Bible,  religion  and  the  ministers  of  religion ;  and  to 
load  them  with  every  vile  epithet  found  in  the  vocabu¬ 
lary  of  vulgarity  and  profaneness. 

All  this  was  borne  by  his  amiable  wife  and  daughter 
with  unparalleled  meekness  and  patience.  Not  one  re¬ 
pining  or  reproachful  word  was  uttered.  They  had 
learned  in  the  school  of  Christ  to  exercise  that  “  charity 
which  suffereth  long  and  is  kind,  which  beareth  all 
things,  hopeth  all  things,  and  endureth  all  things.”  And 
daily  did  they  kneel  down  together  before  the  throne  of 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY.  ’  59 

God,  and  put  up  their  joint  petitions — the  one  for  a  pro¬ 
fligate  husband,  and  the  other  for  a  hardened  father. 

This  meek  and  patient  endurance  of  evil  did  not  soft¬ 
en,  but  seemed  to  exasperate  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Linds- 
ley.  Conscious  that  he  had  injured,  irreparably  injur¬ 
ed,  the  beings,  who  of  all  others  loved  him  most,  he  was 
bent  upon  provoking  them  to  some  act  of  rashness,  that 
he  might  seize  upon  it  as  a  sort  of  an  apology  to  himself, 
for  his  conduct.  Defeated  in  this  object,  he  became  still 
more  and  more  desperate.  Temporal  misfortunes  be¬ 
gan  to  thicken  around  him.  Deeply  in  debt — destitute 
of  credit — having  no  funds  that  he  could  control — he  at 
times  awoke  to  the  full  perception  of  the  horrors  of  his 
situation.  And  at  such  times,  all  these  calamities  were 

m 

most  irrationally  and  unjustly  charged  upon  his  family. 
His  treatment  to  them  at  length  became  so  abusive  and 
alarming,  that  it  was  deemed  necessary  for  their  per¬ 
sonal  safety  to  flee  their  home,  and  seek  shelter  and  pro¬ 
tection  under  another  roof. 

One  instance,  selected  from  many  others  of  a  similar 
character,  will  serve  to  illustrate  this  remark. 

Mrs.  Lindsley,  naturally  of  a  frail  constitution,  was 
now,  from  the  accumulating  weight  of  domestic  grief 
which  hung  upon  her  heart,  in  a  wretched  state  of 
health.  Her  pale  features,  occasionally  flushed  with  an 
hectic  glow,  bore  evident  marks  that  a  worm  was  al¬ 
ready  at  the  stem  of  life. 

It  was  a  cold  wintry  night,  the  town  clock  had  al¬ 
ready  struck  twelve.  Mrs.  Lindsley  had  just  returned 
from  the  window,  to  see  if  she  could  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  returning  form  of  her  husband.  But  no  human 
shape  was  visible  through  the  dim  and  shadowy  moon¬ 
light — all  without  was  still  as  the  repose  of  the  grave, 


60 


MEM  OR  VS  TRIBUTE. 


save  the  creaking  of  some  loose  board  on  the  fence,  that 
now  and  then  was  swung  by  the  wind.  The  fire,  which 
had  been  fed  by  an  economical  hand,  while  the  patient 
wife  sat  up  to  watch  the  return  of  him,  the  sound  of 
whose  tread  after  an  evening’s  absence,  once ,  made  her 
heart  leap  with  joy — was  reduced  to  a  small  bed  of  coals. 
She  had  often  set  up  longer  and  later  to  wait  his  return  ; 
but  now  faintness  and  fatigue  constrained  her  to  think 
of  retiring.  Again,  with  feeble  and  tottering  step,  she 
went  to  the  window  and  strained  her  eye  to  see  if  no 
signs  of  his  approach  could  be  discovered.  But  he  came 
not!  The  lonely  hours  of  that  evening  she  had  spent  in 
much  prayer  for  her  husband.  Faith  seemed  to  assure 
her,  that  there  was  still  hope.  She  wished  to  welcome 
his  return  with  kindness.  But  he  came  not !  Baking 
the  ashes  over  the  expiring  embers,  she  went  to  her  so¬ 
litary  couch  with  a  sad  and  sorrowful  heart. 

That  evening  was  spent  far  differently  by  her  husband. 
He  was  presiding  in  the  Atheistical  club,  and  on  no  pre¬ 
vious  occasion  had  he  ever  gone  to  such  fearful  lengths. 
Having  drank  deeply,  he  gave  full  vent  to  all  the  mali¬ 
cious  and  malignant  feelings  of  his  heart.  Not  content 
with  reviling  the  piety  of  men,  and  the  purity  of  angels, 
he  assailed  the  throne  of  God — uttering  the  most  horrid 
blasphemies,  and  pouring  forth  such  a  torrent  of  oaths 
and  imprecations,  that  the  whole  company  were  startled, 
and  stood  aghast  with  horror. 

It  was  from  such  a  scene  that  Mr.  Lindsley  went  to 
his  family  about  two  o’clock  in  the  morning.  Finding 
Mrs.  L.  had  retired,  he  compelled  her  to  get  up  and  re¬ 
main  in  her  night  dress,  in  a  cold  room,  where  there  was 
no  fire,  till  morning.  Having  locked  the  doors  of  this 
room,  he  walked  the  floor  till  the  day  dawned,  renew- 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY.  61 

ing  his  strain  of  blasphemy,  and  polluting  the  very  at¬ 
mosphere  with  incessant  profanity. 

In  vain  did  the  feeble  and  shivering  form  of  his  wife 
silently  appeal  to  his  pity — in  vain  did  she  entreat  him 
not  to  hurl  defiance  at  the  throne  of  God.  There  was 
no  pity,  no  feeling  in  him.  His  heart  was  converted 
into  stone.  Sin  which  dragged  angels  from  Heaven — 
sin  which  desolated  paradise — sin  which  dug  Hell  and 
kindled  its  unquenchable  fires — sin  had  transformed  this 
man  into  a  fiend. 

CHAP.  V. 

“  A  death  bed ’s  a  detector  of  the  heart.” — Young. 

They  who  deny  the  truth  and  credibility  of  the  Bible, 
though  they  often  laugh  at  the  weakness  and  delusion 
of  Christians,  and  make  loud  boast  of  the  fearlessness  and 
undisturbed  tranquillity  with  which  they  can  look  upon 
the  approach  of  death,  most  generally  in  that  dread  and 
trying  hour,  turn  cowards.  The  eagerness  which  they 
manifest  to  unsettle  the  faith  of  others,  and  the  reckless 
and  impious  air  with  which  they  lay  their  desecrating 
hand  upon  all  that  is  holy,  are  but  symptoms  of  the 
pangs  within — are  but  wretched  shifts  to  drown  that 
awful  voice  which  the  spirit  of  God  is  ringing  in  the 
startled  ear  of  conscience. 

So  it  was  with  Mr.  Lindsley.  In  fleeing  from  the 
Spirit  of  God  he  rushed  into  the  pathway  of  guilt.  To 
still  the  voice  of  conscience  that  he  might  travel  that 
path  undisturbed,  he  tried  to  disbelieve  the  Bible ;  but 
the  truth  had  been  graven  in  such  deep  and  living  cha¬ 
racters  upon  his  heart,  that  it  could  not  be  thus  erased. 

6 


62 


memory’s  tribute. 

Whenever  lie  allowed  himself  to  reflect,  the  burning 
conviction,  in  spite  of  all  his  avowed  infidelity,  still  clung 
blistering  to  his  heart,  that  there  was  an  awful  hell  in 
which  God  would  one  day  punish  him  for  his  sins. 
Death,  therefore,  whenever  it  was  brought  near,  came 
clothed  in  tenfold  terror. 

An  event  illustrative  of  this  remark  occurred  while  his 
family  still  remained  with  him.  In  returning  on  horseback, 
one  night,  from  a  scene  of  revelry,  he  was  thrown  from 
his  horse,  and  so  seriously  injured  that  his  life  for  some 
time  was  despaired  of.  During  his  confinement,  it  was 
observable  to  all  who  visited  him,  how  bitter  and  dread¬ 
ful  the  thoughts  of  death  were  to  him.  Not  a  word  of 
infidelity,  nor  an  oath,  dropped  from  his  lips  while  he 
lay  .thus  near  the  confines  of  eternity. 

Hopes  were  then  entertained  that  a  permanent  change 
would  be  wrought  in  him.  But  the  first  place  he  visit¬ 
ed,  after  leaving  his  sick  room,  was  a  grocery.  He  im¬ 
mediately  returned  to  his  former  courses,  apparently 
with  increased  relish — certainly  with  more  unbridled 
indulgence. 

It  now  became  evident  to  all,  that  the  excess  and  dis¬ 
sipation  in  which  he  indulged  would  soon  break  down 
his  constitution,  and  terminate  his  life.  The  event 
showed  that  these  apprehensions  were  well  grounded. 

A  few  months  after  his  acts  of  cruelty  had  banished 
his  wife  and  daughter  from  his  home,  he  was  attack¬ 
ed  with  an  inflammatory  complaint,  which  daily  be¬ 
came  more  and  more  alarming,  and  threatened  to  ter¬ 
minate  speedily  his  earthly  career. 

He  at  first  did  not  consider  his  disease  dangerous,  and 
therefore,  with  the  help  of  hi-s  companions,  who  were 
often  with  him,  he  for  a  while  kept  up  his  spirits.  The 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


63 


profane  jest — the  loud  laugli — and  the  merry  carousal, 
dissipated  the  gloom  and  tediousness  of  the  sick  room. 
But  as  the  violence  of  his  disorder  increased,  the  visits  of 
these  profligate  companions  became  more  seldom.  For 
vice  and  profligacy  do  not  love  to  look  upon  the  grissly 
features  of  the  king  of  terrors. 

Mr.  L.  began  to  feel  the  want  of  that  kind  attendance 
which  mitigates  the  sufferings,  and  eases  the  pains  of  a 
sick  bed.  He  thought  of  his  mother — she  was  in  her 
grave.  He  thought  of  his  wife — wormwood  and  gall 
were  in  that  thought!  Why  was1  she  not  by  his  side? 
Often  had  she  tended  around  his  bed  of  sickness,  with 
all  the  nursing  care  and  tenderness  which  fond  affection 
could  dictate.  Why  did  not  her  meek  and  gentle  form 
now  stand  by  the  side  of  that  couch  of  languishing?  Ah, 
he  knew  too  well  the  cause;  and  the  remembrance  of  it 
l  was  like  a  poignard  to  his  heart. 

Mr.  Lindsley  had  now  to  spend  many  hours  alone — 
they  were  hours  of  darkness,  of  desolateness,  and  direful 
anguish— often  filled  up  with  oaths,  imprecations,  and 
blasphemy.  At  times  the  frail  form  of  his  much  injur¬ 
ed  and  heart-broken  wife  would  seem  to  glide  before 
him — and  then  for  a  moment  his  feelings  would  relent, 
and  the  determination  would  be  formed,  that  she  should 
be  entreated  to  return.  But  as  the  thought  was  revolved 
over  in  his  mind,  pride  would  start  up,  and  force  him  to 
a  different  conclusion.  “  No,”  he  would  say,  “  never 
shall  the  words  I  uttered  when  she  for  the  last  time  bade 
me  adieu,  be  .recalled.  I  then  said,  and  the  word  shall 
never  be  revoked — go — go  to  those  you  care  more  for 
_  than  for  me ,  and  know  that  your  presence  will  never 
he  again  welcomed  beneath  this  roof  till  my  body  is 
borne  lifeless  over  that  threshold .” 


G4 


memory’s  tribute. 


It  was  in  the  midst  of  these  reflections,  that  the  mi¬ 
nister  of  the  place,  a  young  man,  ardent  in  his  feelings, 
and  bent  upon  being  faithful  to  the  souls  committed  to 
his  charge,  called  upon  Mr.  Lindsley.  He  was  acquaint¬ 
ed  with  the  history  of  the  man,  and  knowing  that  he 
stood  upon  the  borders  of  eternity,  he  thought  it  his  duty 
to  warn  him  of  the  awful  plunge  he  was  about  to  make. 
With  a  firm  and  fearless  voice  he  told  him,  “  that  dying 
in  his  present  state  he  would  sink  into  everlasting  ruin — 
that  nothing  but  the  blood  of  Christ  could  wash  away  the 
ten  thousand  stains  of  guilt  with  which  he  was  defiled — 
that  he  must  repent — that  he  must  have  faith  in  Christ 
— that  his  heart  must  be  changed,  else  there  was  not  the 
slightest  hope  for  him — that  he  had  no  time  to  spare — 
that  he  ought  to  pray  every  instant  until  death  stopt  his 
breath — and  that  with  his  permission  he  would  now  ap¬ 
peal  to  the  throne  of  grace  in  his  behalf.” 

All  this  was  kindly  intended.  It  evinced  faithfulness 
on  the  part  of  the  man  of  God.  But  at  the  same  time, 
there  was,  perhaps,  a  want  of  prudence  in  the  manner 
in  which  this  conversation  was  intrbduced.  It  stirred 
up  the  fierce  passions,  and  exasperated  the  maddened 
feelings,  of  this  dying  profligate.  His  “  face  gathered 
blackness,”  and  there  was  visible  upon  every  feature 
wrath,  and  bitterness,  and  scorn.  Stubborn  and  unsub¬ 
dued,  he  spurned  all  his  entreaties  and  counsel,  and  bade 
him  “  not  to  presume  to  be  Ms  mouth-piece  to  the 
Almighty.” 

A  few  days  after  this  interview,  this  wretched  man 
became,  for  the  first  time,  impressed  with  the  full  con¬ 
viction  that  he  should  never  recover.  The  thought  of 
death,  judgment,  and  the  solemn  realities  of  the  Bible 
filled  his  soul  with  consternstion  and  dread.  Like  a 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


<55 

drowning  man,  he  now  stretched  out  his  hands — eager  to 
grasp  at  any  thing  that  afforded  the  slightest  hope  of 
keeping  him  from  sinking  into  the  dreadful  gulf  that 
gaped  beneath.  He  remembered  that  the  Rev.  Mr. 

Z - ,  was  officiating  in  a  neighbouring  village.  On  a 

former  occasion,  when  in  great  affliction,  this  man  had 
poured  the  balm  of  Christian  consolation  into  his  wound¬ 
ed  heart.  It  was  he  that  officiated  (he  then  being  their 
Pastor)  at  the  funeral  of  Mr.  Lindsley’s  son,  whose 
death  has  been  noticed  in  the  former  part  of  this  nar¬ 
rative. 

For  the  character  of  this  man  Mr.  Lindsley  still  re¬ 
tained  a  high  respect.  And  now  that  life  seemed  wan¬ 
ing,  and  the  awful  scenes  of  eternity  were  ready  to  burst 
upon  him,  he  felt  no  disposition  to  wear  longer  the 
wretched  mask  of  hypocrisy.  He  wished  for  a  spiritual 
counsellor.  A  request,  was  accordingly  sent  to  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Z - ,  soliciting  the  favour  of  a  visit. 

This  man  was  truly  venerable  and  apostolic  in  his  ap¬ 
pearance.  Age  had  added  to  a  stout  and  well  proportion¬ 
ed  form  a  dignity  that  comported  admirably  with  his 
sacred  office.  The  sweetness  of  his  temper,  and  the 
amiability  of  his  heart,  exhibited  themselves  not  only  in 
the  soft  and  persuasive  accents  in  which  he  spoke,  but 
in  the  striking  and  uniform  urbanity  and  gentleness  of 
His  manners.  But  with  this  great  mildness,  he  united 
decision  and  energy  of  character.  In  all  matters  of  in¬ 
difference,  the  benevolence  of  his  heart  led  him  to  be 
as  yielding  to  the  wishes  of  those  around  him  as  the 
flexile  reed  to  the  wind ;  but  where  duty  or  principle 
was  involved,  he  was  as  firm  and  immoveable,  as  the 
ocean  rock  that  has  remained  for  centuries  unmoved, 
amid  the  fierce  dashing  of  ten  thousand  waves. 

6* 


66 


memory’s  tribute. 

Such  was  the  character  of  the  man,  that  in  obedience  ! 
to  the  summons  he  had  received,  now  approached  the 
sick  bed  of  Mr.  Lindsley.  Kindness  beamed  upon  his 
countenance  as  he  entered  the  room,  and  the  first  ex¬ 
pressions  of  sympathy  he  uttered  for  the  sufferer  before 
him,  gave  naturally  a  serious  and  religious  turn  to  the 
conversation.  He  affectionately  entreated  the  sick  and 
dying  man  to  “  acquaint  himself  with  God,  and  be  at 
peace.”  He  set  before  him,  in  a  succinct  and  luminous 
manner,  the  way  of  salvation — “  repentance  towards 
God,  and  faith  towards  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.” 

To  all  this  Mr.  Lindsley  seemed  to  listen,  as  to  some¬ 
thing  that  was  to  be  said,  as  a  matter  of  course.  As  Mr. 

Z - paused,  he  rather  abruptly,  and  in  a  tone  that 

savored  very  little  of  broken  hearted  contrition,  said, 

“  Sir,  I  have  sent  for  you  to  baptize  me.” 

“  Nothing,”  replied  the  man  of  God,  “  can  give  me 
higher  satisfaction,  than  to  administer  to  you  this  holy 
rite,  if  you  can  exhibit  evidence  that  you  possess  proper 
qualifications  for  receiving  it.”  “  It  is  not  to  be  con¬ 
cealed,”  continued  Mr.  Z - ,  “  for  standing  here  as 

tlie  minister  and  messenger  of  God,  I  dare  not  ‘  speak 
smooth  things  or  prophecy  deceits’ — it  is  not  to  be  con¬ 
cealed,  that  you  have  lived  in  open  and  avowed  disbe¬ 
lief  of  the  Christian  religion — you  cannot  receive  bap¬ 
tism  without  declaring  your  decided  belief  in  the  truth 
of  this  religion.” 

“  That  I  can  honestly  and  sincerely  do,”  said  the  sick 
man. 

“  No  man  liveth  and  sinneth  not,”  continued  the  aged 
minister  ;  “  and  every  returning  sinner,  before  he  can  be 
admitted  into  the  fold  of  Jesus,  must  confess,  bewail,  and 
renounce  his  sins — the  best  man  living  has  sins  enough 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


07 


I 

flee  !  to  mourn  over — and  must  be  finally  saved,  if  saved  at 
Die  all,  by  free  and  unmerited  grace.  But,  you,  I  say  it  in 
his  kindness,  you  have  been  no  common  sinner.  There 
At-  is  a  load  of  guilt  on  your  soul,  which,  if  its  whole  weight 
re  be  felt,  must  press  you  down  very  low  in  the  depths  of 
le .  sorrow.” 

(I  I  “I  know  it,  I  feel  it,”  replied  Mr.  L.,  with  more  emo- 
it  tion  than  he  had  before  exhibited,  “  I  have  been  a  wick- 
^  j  ed,  a  very  wicked  man,  but  I  repent  me  of  my  sins.” 

“  You  are  then  willing  to  declare  that  you  solemnly 

l  and  forever  £  renounce  the  devil  and  all  his  works, ’ — that 
#  1 
j  you  will  hereafter  turn  from,  and  detest  sin,  and  what¬ 
ever  is  sinful  ?” 

“  I  am  ready  to  do  this,”  responded  Mr.  L. 

“  O,  Sir,”  continued  the  faithful  minister,  “  it  is  a  very 
t  solemn  business  to  put  ourselves  in  the  attitude  of  cove¬ 
nanting  with  God.  His  piercing  eye  looks  into  the  in- 
imost  recesses  of  the  heart — he  sees  the  hidden  motive 

he  cannot  be  deceived — he  will  not  be  mocked ;  allow 
me  to  read  the  interrogatories  that  will  be  addressed  to 
I  you  at  the  time  of  baptism.” 

Here  Mr.  Z -  read  from  the  baptismal  service,  the 

r  questions  that  are  put  to  the  candidate  immediately  pre- 
'  vious  to  his  receiving  that  solemn  ordinance,  inquiring 
of  the  sick  man  at  the  close  of  each  question,  if  he  could 
in  sincerity  subscribe  to  what  was  there  demanded. 

To  each  of  which  he  replied  by  the  single  monosyl¬ 
lable,  “  Yes.” 

“  Mr.  Lindsley,”  said  this  venerable  negotiator  be¬ 
tween  God  and  man,  new  energy  lighting  up  his  coun¬ 
tenance,  as  he  spoke.  “  Mr.  Lindsley,  I  wish  you  to  be 
saved — and  therefore  I  must  deal  faithfully  with  you. 
Have  you  indeed  considered  what  it  is  to  receive  bap- 


68 


memory’s  tribute. 


tism — have  you  weighed  the  meaning  of  those  questions 
— have  you  thought  how  much  is  implied  in  renouncing 
1  the  sinful  desires  of  the  flesh  so  that  you  will  not  fol¬ 
low  nor  be  led  by  them.’  Consider  what  a  state  of  af¬ 
fection  this  implies.  No  matter  what  may  be  your 
wishes,  your  desires,  your  inclinations — if  they  are  not 
in  strict  accordance  with  the  holy  will  of  God,  you 
bind  yourself  by  the  most  solemn  of  vows  to  c  renounce’ 
them — to  give  them  up — to  sacrifice  them — though  the 
effort  cost  you  as  much  pain  as  the  amputation  of  an  arm, 
or  the  plucking  out  of  an  eye.  Are  you  ready  to  sacrifice 
self,  and  bow  thus  submissively  to  the  will  of  God. 

“  Consider  in  whom  you  profess  faith !  In  Christ ! 
That  Christ  whom  you  have  denied,  abjured  and  blas¬ 
phemed.  In  receiving  baptism  you  declare,  that  aban¬ 
doning  every  other  hope,  you  look  to  him  alone  for  sal¬ 
vation — you  cast  yourself  upon  his  free  mercy — fully 
sensible  that  unless  he  saves  you  by  an  act  of  infinite 
grace  you  must  perish — and  that  if  you  perish,  you  are 
determined  to  perish  at  the  foot  of  the  cross. 

“  Consider  also  that  you  are  to  vow,  that  you  will  not 
only  abandon  your  former  courses,  and  habits,  and  sins 
— making  a  complete  surrender  of  yourself  to  Christ, 
your  King  ;  but  that  you  ‘  will  obediently  keep  God’s 
holy  will  and  commandments,  and  walk  in  the  same  all 
the  days  of  your  life.’  What  surrender  could  be  more 
perfect  than  this  ?  What  profession  of  religion  could  be 
more  solemn  or  unqualified  ? 

“  Now,  Sir,  are  you  willing  thus  to  give  yourself  up  to 
God  ?  Allow  me.to  specify.  You  cannot  but  be  sensible,  if 
you  have  any  right  views  of  your  own  past  conduct — you 
cannot  but  be  sensible  that  you  have  injured — cruelly 
injured  your  family.  The  only  reparation  that  you  can 


no 

of 

K 

m 

1 

ti 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


m 


now  make  them,  is  a  frank  and  humble  acknowledgment 
of  the  ill-treatment  they  have  received  at  your  hands. 
Nothing  can  prevent  your  making  this  acknowledge¬ 
ment,  unless  it  be  a  remaining  c  sinful  desire  of  the  flesh.’ 
That  desire  you  must  sacrifice,  or  never  receive  bap¬ 
tism  from  my  hands.” 

The  religious  feelings  which  at  this  time  existed  in  the 
bosom  of  Mr.  L.,  had  been  awakened  solely  by  the  fear 
of  death,  and  the  dread  of  that  punishment  that  follows 
death.  While  occupied  by  this  one  absorbing  emotion, 
which  grew  more  intense,  with  every  advancing  step  of 
terror’s  King,  the  proud  and  rebellious  spirit  of  deprav¬ 
ed  nature  lay  in  a  state  of  dormancy — but  it  was  not 
subdued.  Agonized  at  the  thought  of  dying  in  guilt, 
and  dropping  into  endless  perdition,  Mr.  Lindsley  was 
anxious  to  perform  some  external  act  of  religion,  from 
which  he  might  gather  some  gleam  of  hope :  forgetting 
in  this  hour  of  mental  agony,  that  external  ordinances 
can  be  of  no  avail,  without  the  heart  is  right  in  the  sight 
of  God. 

That  which  determined  him  to  send  for  the  Rev.  Mr. 

Z - ,  at  this  time,  as  his  spiritual  counsellor,  was  the 

uniform  character  this  man  sustained  for  dove-like  gen¬ 
tleness  and  universal  benevolence.  With  such  a  coun¬ 
sellor  he  hoped  his  path  to  the  grave  would  be  rendered 
smooth,  and  his  passage  to  the  eternal  world  easy ;  and 
that  he  should  be  spared  the  painful  business  of  laying 
bare  to  the  severing  knife,  the  dark  depravity  and  deep 
corruptions  of  the  inner  man. 

When,  contrary  to  his  expectation,  his  spiritual  coun¬ 
sellor  applied  a  searching  caustic  to  every  wound,  and 
with  a  discriminating  perception  that  seemed  almost 
divine,  touched  that  string  in  his  heart  to  which  a  thou- 


70 


sand  feelings  of  concealed,  but  deep-rooted  depravity- 
vibrated — making,  a  reconciliation  with  his  family — an 
acknowledgement  to  them  of  sorrow  and,  contrition 
for  the  many  evils  they  had  suffered  at  his  hands — the 
sole  condition,  upon  which  he  would  administer  baptism 
to  him.  Mr.  Lindslcy  hastily  replied,  and  the  tones 
of  his  voice  were  those,  not  of  an  humble,  dying,  peni- 


MEMORY  S  TRIBUTE. 


tent,  but  of  a  self-willed  and  unsubdued  sinner,  1^ 

“  That  acknowledgment,  Sir,  I  can  never  make.”  L 

“  Then,”  said  Mr.  Z - ,  with  a  solemn  and  empha-  L 

tic  tone,  “  I  can  never  baptize  you.  And,”  continued  I, 
he,  “  as  I  see  no  prospect  of  being  of  any  further  service  1,, 
to  you,  I  will  now  take  my  leave.”  I, 

He  accordingly  arose  and  proceeded  to  take  his  de¬ 
parture.  His  hand  was  already  upon  the  latch  of  the 
door,  when  the  sick  man  raising  himself  up  in  his  bed,  , 
his  countenance  exhibiting  ten  thousand  conflicting  and 
soul  racking  emotions,  exclaimed, 

“  O  my  God,  must  I  then  die  unbaptized  ! !” 

The  kind  hearted  minister,  affected  even  to  tears,  at 
this  sudden  burst  of  feeling,  turned  round  and  said, 

“  Deluded  man,  baptism  cannot  wash  the  deep  cor¬ 
ruption  from  your  heart.  Until  your  feelings  are  chang-  ' 
ed,  and  your  stubborn  will  subdued,  there  is  no  hope  for 
you*’ 

“  Hear  me,”  said  the  sick  man,  gathering  new  strength 
from  the  intensity  of  internal  and  agonized  feeling. 

“  Hear  me — if  you  desert  me,  then  there  is  no  hope 
and  as  he  spoke,  torrents  of  scalding  tears  coursed  down 
his  haggard  checks — “  I  wish  to  be  baptized  for  seve¬ 
ral  reasons — one  is,  that  I  may  declare  my  belief  in 
the  Christian  religion,  which,  although  I  have  often 
abjured  with  my  lips,  I  have  never  doubted  in  my 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


71 


i  heart.  I  am  sensible  that  I  am  now  near  eternity,  and 
|  that  Hell  is  yawning  beneath  the  very  place  where  I 
lie.  I  would  be  saved.  My  pride  has  been  my  ruin. 
That  prevented  me  from  going  forward  to  unite  myself 
1  with  the  church  of  Christ,  at  a  season  when  the  Spirit 
[  of  God  wrestled  powerfully  with  my  soul.  O,  had  I 
then  bound  myself  by  a  solemn  and  inviolable  vow  to 
the  service  of  my  Maker,  what  a  tremendous  wreck 
should  I  have  avoided.  My  pride  just  now  would  not 
suffer  me  to  make  peace  with  the  wife  of  my  youth, 

•  and  the  child  of  my  early  love.  Yes,  I  have  cruelly 
\  injured  them.  They  were  all  that  is  kind,  gentle,  holy, 

affectionate,  and  lovely ;  and,  amid  all  the  bitter  breath- 
Jngs  and  envenomed  rancor  of  this  wretched  heart,  I 
have  ever  loved  them,  and  love  them  still.” 
d  Exhausted  by  this  effort  to  unburthen  the  conflicting 
'emotions  of  his  soul,  Mr.  L.  now  sunk  back  upon  his 
bed  in  silence.  A  milder  and  more  subdued  aspect  sat 
upon  his  countenance,  than  had  before  been  observed. 

Mr.  Z -  then  told  him,  that  on  his  way  to  visit 

jj  him,  he  had  fallen  in  with  Mrs.  Lindsley  and  Mary 
I  Anna,  and  that  they  were  now  in  the  village,  ready  to 
■:  fly  to  his  embrace.  “  Will  you  not” — continued  he — 
1“  allow  me  to  call  upon  them,  and  assure  them  that  you 

*  truly  deplore  the  misdemeanors  of  your  life,  and  desire, 
before  you  depart  hence,  next  to  being  reconciled  to  God, 
a  perfect  reconciliation  with  them.” 

To  this  Mr.  L.  immediately  consented,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  wife  and  daughter  were  at  his  bed-side. 


72  memory’s  tribute. 


CHAP.  VI. 

“  That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day 
When  Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away, 

What  power  shall  be  the  sinner’s  stay  1 
How  shall  he  meet  that  dreadful  day  7 
When  shrivelling  like  a  parched  scroll, 

The  flaming  Heavens  together  roll; 

When  louder  yet,  and  yet  more  dread 
Swells  the  high  Trump  that  wakes  the  dead  ! 

Oh,  on  that  day,  that  wrathful  day, 

When  man  to  judgment  wakes  from  clay, 

Be  Thou  the  trembling  sinner’s  stay, 

Though  Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away.” — Scott. 


The  parted  family  were  again  beneath  the  same  roof, 
and  happy  in  each  others  presence — all  unkindness  was 
forgotten.  The  mother  and  daughter  were  now  unwea¬ 
ried  in  their  attentions  and  efforts  to  contribute  to  the 
comfort  of  the  sick  and  dying  man;  and  the  object  of 
their  constant  and  most  tender  solicitude,  was,  that  he 
might  be  prepared  to  enter  upon  that  dread  eternity 
which  now  stretched  before  him. 

Baptism  had  been  administered  to  him — he  having- 
given  evidences  of  contrition  and  repentance,  that,  in  the 
view  of  his  spiritual  guide,  justified  this  act. 

“  Who” — said  Mr.  Lindsley,  as  he  lay  upon  his  bed 
one  afternoon,  now  greatly  debilitated,  his  countenance 
changed,  and  his  features  exhibiting  evidences  of  a 
chastened  and  subdued  spirit — no  one  at  the  time  being 
in  the  room  except  Mary  Anna, 
u  Who  was  that,  that  just  called  ?” 

“  Richard  H - ,”  said  Mary  Anna. 

“  Ah,”  said  the  father,  “  what  could  have  brought 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


73 


Richard  here — such  as  him  do  not  usually  like  to  visit 
those  who  are  treading  on  the  misty  verge  of  eternity.” 

“  He  said,”  replied  Mary  Anna,  u  that  he  should  like 
to  see  you  to  drive  away  moping  melancholy.  But 
mamma  told  him,  that  you  wished  not  to  be  disturbed 
by  visiters.” 


“  She  did  right  in  not  admitting  him,  and  yet  I  could 
almost  wish  that  she  had,  that  I  might  have  told  him  of 
that  deep  and  burning  Hell  into  which  he  and  the  club 
will  sink ;  of  that  dreadful  cup  of  indignation  that  they 
will  drink  at  the  hand  of  God  through  all  eternity.  But 
no — he  would  have  laughed  and  made  a  joke  of  it,  and 
f  am  too  weak,  and  too  unsettled  in  my  own  hopes  to 
have  overcome  him  by  reasoning.” 

Here  he  paused  as  though  in  a  deep  and  painful  reverie. 

The  infidel  club,  of  which  Mr.  Lindsley  had  been  an 
active  member,  hearing  of  his  religious  concern,  and  de¬ 
sire  to  receive  baptism,  sent  at  various  times  a  deputa¬ 
tion  to  dissuade  him  from  what  they  termed  “  apostacy.” 

lie  uniformly  declined  seeing  them,  remarking,  “that 
lie  needed  all  his  time  to  make  preparation  for  the  aw¬ 
ful  change  that  awaited  him.” 

It  was  one  of  that  miserable  gang  that  had  just  called, 
and  to  whom  the  foregoing  conversation  related. 

Mary  Anna  did  not  feel  disposed  to  interrupt  the  train 
of  her  father’s  thoughts,  and  he  therefore  mused  on  for 
awhile  in  silence.  At  length,  as  though  unconscious  of 
the  presence  of  any  other  being,  he  thus  gave  utterance 
to  the  thoughts  that  were  moving  in  his  mind. 

“  That  was  the  guiltiest  night  of  all !  Those  recol¬ 
lections,  as  though  steeped  in  the  burning  waters  be¬ 
low,  how  they  scorch  my  wildered  brain!  Ah!  what 
if  in  the  fearful  day  of  final  reckoning  my  judge  shall 


7 


74  memory’s  tribute. 

call  up  the  remembrance,  and  place  before  me  in  vivid 
perception,  the  transactions  of  that  night — that  night 
when  I  stamped  on  the  Book  of  God,  and  reviled,  and 
sneered  at,  and  blasphemed  the  name  of  Christ.  O, 
what  maddening  thoughts  come  thick  and  crowding 
upon  my  memory  !”  1 

Here  Mary  Anna  alarmed  at  the  energetic  and  almost 


frantic  manner  of  her  father,  moved  her  chair  in  turn¬ 
ing  to  look  upon  him.  The  slight  noise  occasioned  by 
this  movement,  recalled  to  his  recollection  the  presence 
of  his  daughter. 

In  a  calmer  but  no  less  solemn  manner,  he  continued, 
“  O,  my  child,  you  know  nothing  of  those  dark  por¬ 
tions  of  my  existence.  You  have  felt  the  blighting  in¬ 
fluence  of  the  demon  within  me.  In  bitterness,  and  by 
a  course  of  conduct  cruel  as  the  grave,  I  drove  you  and 
your  mother  from  my  dwelling  ;  but  there  are  darker 
and  more  desolate  passages  in  my  history  than  this. 
And,  if  in  the  awful  hour  when  I  meet  the  judge  eternal, 
he  shall  point  to  those  scenes,  I  shall  acknowledge  the 
justice  of  that  sentence  which  sweeps  me  into  the  fiery 
concave  of  endless  woe.” 

“  O,  my  dear  father,”  said  Mary  Anna,  agitated  with 
deep  feeling,  and  anxious  to  turn  his  desponding  eye  to 
some  beacon  of  hope — “  There  is  a  Saviour  for  sinners. 
Jesus  Christ  died  for  sinners.  He  tells  us  that  he  is 
‘  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  them  that  come  unto  God 
by  him,’  and  ‘  that  whosoever  cometh  unto  him  he  will 
in  no  wise  cast  out.’  ” 

“  Yes,  my  child,”  said  he,  “  there  is  a  Saviour,  but  I 
do  not  know  that  I  have  gone  to  him,  or  given  myself 
up  to  him.” 

He  then  asked  her  to  draw  the  curtain  of  the  window, 


A  FAMILY  IN  KTERNITX. 


75 

and  let  in  a  little  more  light-  She  did  so,  and  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun  streamed  into  the  room  in  all  their  rich 
and  golden  lustre. 

“  How  glorious,”  said  he,  “  is  the  material  sun,  but 
infinitely  more  glorious  and  resplendent  is  the  sun  of 
righteousness.  O,  that  I  could  see  it  thus  shining 
upon  my  darkened  soul.  Sometimes  I  venture  to 
cherish  a  little  hope.  I  felt  a  satisfaction  in  receiving 
baptism.  I  wished  to  bear  testimony  of  my  firm  belief 
in  the  religion  of  the  cross.  That  cross  now  emits  the 
only  transient  ray  of  hope  that  falls  upon  my  darkened 
vision.  I  know  not  how  it  will  be  with  me.  I  have 
sinned  against  light  and  knowledge,  against  warnings 

ftlie  most  solemn,  and  convictions  the  most  deep — against 
love,  and  kindness,  and  mercy.  I  shall  not  be  surpris¬ 
ed,  when  I  open  my  eyes  in  eternity,  if  I  am  in  Hell.” 

These  were  the  last  remarks  he  ever  made.  The 
violence  of  his  disorder  rapidly  increased,  and  that  very 
night  he  crossed  the  mystic  line  that  separates  time 
from  eternity. 

In  this  melancholy  narrative,  we  have  striking  proof, 
that  they,  who  resist  the  strivings  of  the  Spirit,  and  neg¬ 
lect  the  divinely  appointed  means  of  grace,  do  verily 
reject  the  counsel  of  God  against  themselves,  and  ulti¬ 
mately  provoke  him  “  to  swear  in  his  wrath  that  they 
shall  never  enter  into  his  rest.” 

Will  it  be  suggested,  that  perhaps  the  subject  of  this 
memoir  found  mercy  at  last?  It  may  be  he  did.  It 
was  natural  for  his  friends  to  hope  that  he  did. 

But  reader  art  thou  willing  to  risk  thy  eternity  upon 
such  a  perhaps.  Canst  thou  witness  this  exit  of  a 
fellow  mortal  whose  dying  moments  were  clouded  with 
uncertainty,  and  doubt,  bordering  upon  despair,  and  not 


70 


memory’s  tribute. 


shudder  at  the  thought  of  closing  thy  earthly  career 
amid  such  appalling  darkness.  Yet.,  if  thou  deferrest  the 
work  of  thy  salvation  till  to-morrow,  what  security  hast 
thou  that  thy  end  will  not  be  like  the  end  of  this  man ! 

It  is  the  exalted  privilege  of  those  whose  hopes  are 
upon  the  rock  Christ  Jesus,  to  die  with  comfort — often 
with  triumph;  and  their  death  is  not  unfrcqucntly  made 
instrumental  in  producing  great  and  lasting  good. 

This  remark  was  strikingly  illustrated  in  the  death 
of  Mrs.  Lindsley,  an  account  of  which  will  be  given  in 
the  next  chapter. 

CHAP.  VII. 

“  Mark  the  perfect  man  and  behold  the  upright:  for  the  end  of  that 

man  is  peace.” — From  the  37th  Psalm. 

The  scenes  of  sorrow  and  suffering  through  which 
Mrs.  Lindsley  had  passed,  had  ruined  her  health  and 
broken  her  heart.  Consumption,  which  with  her  ma¬ 
ternal  family  was  an  hereditary  disease,  was  already 
gnawing  upon  her  vitals.  Two  months  after  Mr.  Linds- 
ley’s  death,  she  was  laid  low  in  the  earth  by  liis  side. 
She  was  sensible  for  many  weeks  that  her  final  hour 
would  soon  come.  She  often  spoke  of  the  arrival  of 
that  hour  as  of  an  event,  that  would  release  her  from 
a  world  of  sin  and  sorrow,  and  translate  her  to  the  pre¬ 
sence  of  her  Saviour  and  God. 

She  waited  in  patience  her  appointed  time.  And  her 
last  hours  bore  striking  testimony  to  the  power  of  divine 
grace,  and  were  blessed,  as  there  is  every  reason  to  be¬ 
lieve,  to  the  saving  of  a  soul  from  death. 

Mr.  Lindsley’s  abandonment  of  the  club  of  which  lie 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


77 


had  formerly  been  so  prominent  a  member — his  solemn 
renunciation  of  those  skeptical  views  which  he  had  once 
so  assiduously  propagated — his  firm  and  avowed  con¬ 
viction  of  a  future  existence — his  awful  apprehensions 
of  a  ruined  eternity — and  his  extreme  anxiety  to  gather 
from  the  pages  of  the  Bible,  and  the  institutions  of  the 
Gospel,  hopes  to  support  him  in  the  trying  hour  of  death, 
gave  a  fatal  blow  to  that  corrupt  and  guilty  association. 

His  death  and  the  circumstances  connected  with  it, 
seemed  to  produce  a  deep  and  abiding  impression  upon 

the  mind  of  one  of  his  former  associates,  Richard  H - , 

whose  name  has  been  incidentally  mentioned  in  this  nar¬ 
rative.  This  man  was  better  read,  and  more  intellec¬ 
tually  established  in  skepticism  than  any  other  individual 
in  the  Atheistical  club. 

His  mother,  who  died  when  he  was  young,  was  an 
eminently  pious  woman.  During  her  life,  his  religious 
education  was  with  her  a  subject  of  deep  and  constant 
solicitude.  She  sought  by  every  maternal  art  and  en¬ 
dearment  to  win  his  young  and  tender  heart  to  the  love 
of  Jesus.  Often  and  ardently  did  she  pour  out  her  soul 
in  supplication  to  God  for  her  child.  She  asked  for  him, 
neither  wealth,  nor  honour,  nor  eminence;  but  simply, 
grace.  And  her  dying  words  were, 

“  Adorable  Jesus,  by  all  thy  wounds,  and  agony,  and 
blood,  save — I  entreat  thee — save  my  child .” 

Richard  at  this  time  was  quite  young,  and,  after  the 
death  of  his  mother,  not  having  any  pious  friend  to 
counsel  or  instruct  him,  his  early  impressions  were  ap¬ 
parently  soon  effaced.  He  became  addicted  to  irregular 
courses,  and  seemed  to  have  no  fear  of  God  before  his 
eyes.  As  he  grew  up,  however,  he  evinced  strong  na¬ 
tive  powers  of  mind,  and  passed  through  his  collegiate 
course  with  great  credit  to  himself.  While  in  college  he 


78 


■ 


memory’s  tribute. 

imbibed  the  absurd  idea — an  idea  which  has  ruined  many 
a  youth  of  great  promise — that  superiority  of  intellect  can 
be  displayed  only  in  leaving  the  beaten  track,  and  ori¬ 
ginating  new  systems  and  theories.  These  same  views 
influeliced  him  even  in  religious  matters ;  and  falling  in 
with  several  French  writers,  he  at  once  embraced  their 
voluptuous  and  skeptical  philosophy,  and  thus  became 
in  his  religious  sentiments  a  perfect/ree  thinker. 

Nothing  ever  occurred  to  arouse  him  from  his  dreams 
of  infidelity,  until  the  death  of  Mr.  L.  He  had  for  many 
years  been  addicted  to  habits  of  intemperance,  and,  in 
.  his  association  with  Mr.  Lindsley,  found  himself  united 
to  a  kindred  spirit.  The  death  of  Mr.  L.,  as  we  remark¬ 
ed,  seemed  to  startle  him.  He  became  evidently  more  j 
thoughtful  and  temperate.  He  was  frequently  heard  to 
say  with  some  concern,  in  the  presence  of  religious 
people, 

“  If  the  Bible  be  true,  I  wish  to  know  it.  If  there  is  a  * 
Hell,  I  certainly  do  not  wish  to  go  there.” 

As  Mrs.  Lindsley’s  health  declined,  he  frequently  call¬ 
ed  to  make  inquiries  after  her.  The  afternoon  on  which 
she  expired,  he  came  to  the  house,  and  being  informed 
that  she  was  sinking  rapidly,  begged  the  privilege  of 
seeing  her.  At  this  time  Mrs.  L.  was  still  able  to  con¬ 
verse,  and  all  her  words  breathed  forth  the  sweetness 
and  amiability  of  the  religion  she  professed.  She  ex¬ 
pressed  no  over-weening  confidence  in  relation  to  her  ac¬ 
ceptance  with  God,  but  at  the  same  time  it  was  manifest 
that  her  faith  in  the  power  and  mercy  of  the  Redeemer 
was  firm  and  unshaken.  Meek  and  resigned  to  his 
will,  her  whole  appearance  indicated  the  most  perfect 
calmness  and  serenity.  She  at  times  spoke  to  those 
around  her,  and  affectionately  entreated  them  to  pre¬ 
pare  to  meet  their  God. 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY.  79 

To  011c  who  expressed  regret  at  finding  her  so  low, 
she  replied, 

“  Ought  you  to  regret  that  I  am  going  home.  As 
!  long  as  I  remain  here  I  must  inhabit  this  body  of  suffer¬ 
ing  and  sin.  But  when  released  from  it,  I  hope  through 
the  infinite  mercy  of  God  in  Christ  to  be  pure,  and  per¬ 
fectly  happy.  Then  may  I  not  say,  1  for  me  to  die  is 
gain  V  ” 

A  short  time  after  she  remarked, 

“  The  Saviour  says,  £  I  know  my  sheep.’  This  is  a 
delightful  thought  to  the  soul  that  is  about  to  be  launch¬ 
ed  into  the  world  of  spirits.  Christ  knows  all  his  fol¬ 
lowers,  and  will  neither  overlook  nor  forget  one  of  them.” 

She  then  requested  a  friend  who  was  present,  to  read 
i  the  27th  and  28th  verse.s  of  the  10th  of  John.  “  My 
'  sheep  hear  my  voice,  and  I  know  them  and  they  follow 
me.  And  I  give  unto  them  eternal  life ;  and  they  shall 
\  never  perish,  neither  shall  any  man  pluck  them  out  of 
my  hand.” 

“  These  are  indeed  comforting  words” — she  added 
after  the  passage  had  been  read — “  they  are  to  my  soul 
c  like  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land.’  c  I 
give  unto  them  eternal  life,  and  they  shall  never  perish’ 
— precious  promise !” 

Mr.  H - stood  and  for  a  long  time  gazed  in  silence 

upon  this  lovely  woman,  gently  sinking  down  into  “  the 
valley  and  shadow  of  death,”  and  sustained  at  every  step 
by  the  arm  of  the  Omnipotent  Jesus.  She  at  length  lift¬ 
ing  up  her  eyes  said  to  him, 

“  Mr.  H - ,  I  have  often  heard  that  you  had  a  pious 

mother.  I  hope  soon  to  meet  her  in  Heaven.  O,  that 
I  could  be  the  bearer  to  her  of  the  happy  intelligence 
that  the  child,  whom  she  so  tenderly  loved,  and  whose 


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memory’s  tribute. 

salvation  she  so  earnestly  supplicated  in  her  dying  hour, 
was  treading  the  narrow  path  to  join  her  in  the  skies  !” 

A  thunderbolt  from  the  throne  of  Omnipotence,  would 
not  have  more  suddenly  startled,  or  more  powerfully 

agitated  Mr.  II - ,  than  did  this  remark.  His  whole 

appearance  bespoke  uncommon  emotion,  and  a  torrent 
of  tears  suddenly  rushed  down  his  stern  and  swarthy 
cheek.  Perhaps  no  language  can  give  to  the  reader  a 
more  accurate  idea  of  the  deep  workings  of  his  mind  at 
that  moment,  than  the  account  which  he  himself  gave  to 
an  acquaintance  some  years  after,  when  he  had  become 
to  all  appearance  a  sincere  believer,  and  a  truly  reform 
ed  man. 

“  The  dying  chamber  of  Mrs.  Lindsley,”  said  he, 

“  was  the  place,  where  all  the  strong  ramparts  of  infide-j 
lity  within  which  my  mind  was  entrenched,  were  sudden¬ 
ly  overthrown,  and  where  the  light  of  God’s  truth  broke 
in  upon  my  soul  in  spite  of  all  resistance.  I  had  read 
many  infidel  authors,  and  considered  my  principles  as 
unalterably  fixed.  I  had  also  examined  most  of  the 
■works  that  had  been  written  in  defence  of  Christianity, 
and  found  nothing  in  them  to  shake  my  opinions.  But 
what  argument,  and  learning,  and  talent  could  not  do, 
the  exhibition  of  divine  power  could.  As  I  stood  look¬ 
ing  upon  Mrs  L.,  calm,  collected,  and  unshaken  in  a 
situation  in  which  the  courage  of  many  a  warrior  would 
have  quailed,  I  asked  myself — 

“  What  supports  that  frail  and  feehle  woman  ?  Is  it  en¬ 
thusiasm?  No.  A  spirit  as  tranquil  and  passionless  as 
hers,  must  be  a  stranger  to  enthusiasm.  Is  it  natural 
firmness  of  nerve  ?  No.  She  has  it  not.  Through  life, 
from  the  very  delicacy  of  her  physical  structure,  she  has 
been  as  tremblingly  alive  to  every  rude  touch  as  the 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


81 


sensitive  plant*  What  power  then  is  it  that  enables  her 
to  look  so  tranquilly  upon  all  the  horrors  that  cluster 
around  the  thought  of  dissolution  and  death  1  It  is  the 
power — a  voice  seemed  to  whisper  in  my  ear — it  is  the 
power  of  God. 

“  It  was  at  this  moment  that  Mrs.  L.  addressed  me  and 
spoke  of  my  mother.  Her  sainted  image  instantly  rose 
before  me.  Her  looks,  her  words  of  kindness,  her 
prayers,  and  her  pious  instruction  were  all  as  fresh  in 
my  recollection  as  if  she  had  died  but  the  day  before. 
And  now  every  1  refuge  of  lies,5  in  which  I  had  long 
trusted,  forsook  me — I  could  not  summon  a  single  infi¬ 
del  argument  to  sustain  me.  I  felt  like  a  drowning  man 
that  is  sinking  to  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  And  from 
that  hour  I  could  never  emancipate  myself  from  the 
rooted  conviction  of  the  truth  of  the  Bible.  I  view  myself 
as  c  a  brand  plucked  from  the  burning,5  and  through 
eternity  I  shall  bless  God  that  in  his  infinite  mercy  he 
led  me  to  the  sick  and  dying  chamber  of  Mrs.  Lindsley.” 

Mrs.  L.  gradually  sunk  down  into  the  sleep  of  death, 
the  light  of  heaven  continuing  to  beam  upon  her  to  the 
very  last  gasp.  The  last  words  that  she  uttered,  were 
those  of  prayer  and  praise.  As  life  was  rapidly  waning, 
she  faintly  breathed  these  words, 

“  Jesus  to  thy  dear  faithful  hand. 

My  naked  soul  I  trust.” 

Mary  Anna  stood  by  the  bed  holding  her  chilled  and 
icy  hand.  Turning  to  her  a  look  of  affection,  her  eye 
sparkling  with  hope,  she  added, 

u  I  find  my  child,  that 

“  Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed, 

Feci  soft  as  downy  pillows  are.” 

With  these  words  she  breathed  out  her  life. 


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memory’s  tribute. 

Mary  Anna  who  had  already  passed,  through  many  '■ 
trials,  was  now  left  to  struggle  with  new  difficulties. 
They,  who  are  surrounded  by  the  delightful  presence  a 
and  warm  affection  of  parents,  can  know  but  little  of  the  ' 
sorrows  of  an  orphan.  Even  where  a  mother  survives, 
though  in  feeble  and  declining  health,  her  counsel  and  ^ 
soothing  words,  give  bouyancy  to  the  spirits,  and  fill  ; 
us  with  the  delightful  consciousness  that  there  is  one 
being  whose  affection  can  not  be  alienated,  and  whose 
interest  in  us  can  suffer  no  diminution.  But  when  she 
is  taken,  and  we  stand  unconnected  by  a  single  kindred 
tie  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  bereavement  is  indeed 
dreadful,  and  there  cannot  fail  to  be  felt  a  sense  of  lone¬ 
liness,  which  no  language  can  describe. 

Thus  it  was  with  Mary  Anna  Lindsley.  As  she  re¬ 
turned  from  the  grave  of  her  mother,  she  could  not  re¬ 
frain  from  asking  herself, 

“  What  is  there  now  left  in  this  world  for  me  ?  I  have 
no  friends — no  means  of  subsistence — the  -last  eye  that  | 
looked  kindly  on  me  is  now  closed  in  death — there  is  * 
nothing  on  this  earth  for  me  to  lean  upon.  But  blessed 
be  the  eternal  Jehovah  £  the  Father  of  mercies,  and  God  I 
of  all  comfort,5  who  has  promised  that  He  will  be  a  { 
c  Father  to  the  fatherless.5  That  promise  I  will  now 
claim.  I  will  lean  upon  his  Heavenly  arm  and  give  up 
myself  entirely  to  his  guidance  and  direction.55 

Happy  are  they,  who  by  their  afflictions  are  thus  led 
to  make  a  complete  surrender  of  themselves  into  the 
hands  of  their  Creator.  That  gracious  and  Almighty 
Being  never  disappoints  those  who  trust  in  Him.  He 
will  most  assuredly  make  “all  things  work  together  for 
good  to  them  that  love  Him.” 

Friends  were  quickly  raised  up  to  pour  the  soothing 


A  FAMILY  IN  ETERNITY. 


83 


r  !  balm  of  consolation  into  the  bosom  of  this  young  orphan. 

<  One  who  had  long  known  and  appreciated  her  worth, 

;  and  for  whom  she  had  the  highest  esteem,  sought 
m  her  hand. 

About  a  year  had  now  elapsed  since  the  death  of 
i  her  mother.  Grief  had  begun  to  subside,  and  hope,  to 
I  point  to  a  brighter  day.  She  was  soon  to  be  married  to 
a  man  whose  principles  and  character,  both,  her  heart 
and  judgment  approved. 

They  were  sitting  together  at  the  close  of  a  summer’s 
;  day,  under  an  arbour  in  a  delightful  garden.  Universal 
nature  was  dressed  in  smiles.  He  was  reading  a  beau¬ 
tiful  poem  on  the  joys  of  Heaven. 

As  he  paused  for  a  moment,  Mary  Anna  inquired, 

^  “  Do  you  think  that  friends  will  recognise  each  other 

*  in  eternity 

“  Certainly;”  he  replied — “  though  I  might  find  it  dif¬ 
ficult  to  state  definitely,  upon  what  evidence  that  opinion 
?*.is  founded.  St.  Paul  I  think  incidently  asserts  this  doc- 
X  trine.  Addressing  those  whom  he  had  been  instrument- 
t)al  in  turning  to  righteousness,  he  informs  them  that  he 
&  cherished  the  delightful  hope,  that  they  would  be  his 
p  ‘  crown  of  rejoicing’  at  the  appearing  of  Christ  in  the 
U  day  of  judgment.  This  they  could  not  be,  unless  re- 
$  cognized  by  him  in  that  hour.” 

“  My  mind,”  said  Mary  Anna,  “  while  you  have  been 
reading,  has  been  running  over  the  scenes  of  my  child- 
r  hood,  and  the  striking  and  awful  events  that  have  marked 

*  the  history  of  my  family.  I  fully  believe  that  all  those 
afflictive  dispensations  were  ordered  in  mercy — they 

J  were  intended  by  a  merciful  Heaven  to  sanctify  and  save. 
^  Affliction  is  good  for  me — so  deeply  am  I  convinced  of 
|  this,  that  I  look  with  suspicion  and  fear  upon  every  an- 


84 


memory’s  tribute. 

ticipated  prospect  of  earthly  happiness.  Yes,  sorrow  is 
the  better  path  for  me  while  I  remain  in  this  sinful 
world,  and  when  I  leave  it,  I  trust  through  the  boundless 
mercy  of  a  crucified  Redeemer,  to  participate  in  the  un¬ 
ending  joys  of  Heaven.” 

These  last  words  were  uttered  with  such  an  unearthly 
accent,  that  her  friend  turned  to  look  at  her.  An  ashy 
paleness  suddenly  came  over  her  countenance.  It  was 
the  paleness  of  death !  A  blood  vessel  had  been  sud¬ 
denly  ruptured ;  and  in  a  few  fleeting  moments  she  was 
in  eternity — furnishing  another  melancholy  proof,  that 
u  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death.” 

It  was  over  the  graves  of  this  family  that  I  stood  and 
meditated  long  upon  the  instability  and  emptiness  of  | 
earth,  contrasting  its  perishing  vanities,  with  the  en-  J 
during  realities  of  Heaven,  which  are  the  purchase  of  J 
Christ,  and  will  be  the  inheritance  of  his  people.  Read- 1 
er,  may  divine  grace  make  thee  one  of  those  people,  and  | 
bring  both  thee  and  the  writer  of  these  pages  at  last  * 
“  unto  the  city  of  the  living  God,  the  Heavenly  Jeru¬ 
salem,”  to  join  “  the  general  assembly  and  church  of  j 
the  first  born  which  are  written  in  Heaven.” 


THE  END. 


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IT  IS  APPOINTED  UNTO  MEN  ONCE  TO  DIE 

AND  AFTER  THAT  THE  JUDGMENT. 

When  those  we  love  are  snatch’d  away 
By  death’s  resistless  hand 

Our  hearts  the  mournful  tribute  pay 
That  friendship  must  demand. 

While  pity  prompts  the  rising  sigh, 

With  awful  pow’r  imprest, 

May  this  dread  truth,  “I  too  must  die,” 

Sink  deep  in  ev’ry  breast. 

Let  this  vain  world  allure  no  more ; 

Behold  the  op’ning  tomb ; 

It  bids  us  use  the  present  hour, — 

To-morrow  death  may  come. 

The  voice  that  tells  of  death’s  near  scene 
May  ev’ry  heart  obey ! 

Nor  be  the  faithful  warning  vain 
Which  calls  to  watch  and  pray : 


0  let  us  to  that  Saviour  fly, 

WTiose  arm  alone  can  save ; 

Then  shall  our  hopes  ascend  on  high, 
And  triumph  o’er  the  grave. 


•  *&{ 


